


If I Believe You

by AMaterialThing



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish is Bad at Feelings, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-The Raven King, Ronan Lynch Being an Asshole, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 10:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15661725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMaterialThing/pseuds/AMaterialThing
Summary: In which the Gangsey figures out who they are without Glendower and Ronan and Adam figure out who they are to each other.Set between The Raven King and Opal.





	1. A God Shaped Hole

**Author's Note:**

> Look, you knew what this was going to be. I knew what this was going to be. We both noticed the rating, no sense in playing coy. But, damn it, I'm throwing in some feelings with the shameless smut.
> 
> ~loosely inspired by If I Believe You by the 1975~

Adam Parrish was letting himself worship.

After the ending, after the destruction and the chaos and the unmaking, this realization struck him harder than he expected. Possibly, this was because Adam Parrish – a boy who always had a plan and was habitually wary of surprises – had not expected it. He worshiped.

He let himself praise the magical patchwork body of his best friend. Gansey was alive. No one could believe it, Gansey above all people. But there he was: a living, breathing thing. His rebirth (the second one in his young life) had left scars that would be permanently engraved into his tanned skin. He was not the same, he was not completely human. Gansey had become something out of reach, something that none of them completely understood. But he was alive. And Adam reveled in it.

He let himself adore Blue and her family. Maura filled him with mysterious herbal teas, each one meant to heal and each one doing more damage than good, in Adam’s personal opinion. The reading room in 300 Fox Way introduced to Adam a door that he had inherited the key to, and the woman were its gatekeepers. He appreciated every whispered fortune, every tarot card drawn, and every insight to the world that he and his friends had been helplessly thrown into.

And, most of all, he let himself glorify Ronan Lynch.  
Dreamer of dreams, fighter of men, survivor of darkness. Ronan Lynch was an enigma, an equation that Adam couldn’t solve, a thunderstorm that swallowed him whole. He was a glitch in humanity: too powerful, too mystical, too much for any human to be at once. And Adam worshipped him.

In return, Adam let himself be worshiped.  
He had permitted the stares, the jokes, the playful (and occasionally combative) banter that, if you knew Ronan well enough, indicated a certain level of fondness. He had let himself be known, something that made him feel uneasy and warm at the same time. Adam had let Ronan kiss him at the Barns. And Ronan had let Adam kiss him back.

They worshipped.

Despite the blatant expression of feelings, it took Adam nearly a week to seek out Ronan’s lips once more. Gansey was recovering, Blue was adjusting, Ronan was mourning, and they were all adapting to an ending and preparing for a beginning. He felt kissing would have been insignificant and small in comparison, so he waited.  
He was comforted by the fact that Blue was in no hurry to kiss Gansey again either. She mentioned it to Adam one late night in the kitchen of 300 Fox Way, days after the resurrection, while Ronan and Gansey spoke to the psychics.

“What if I’m still cursed?” Blue had said, clutching the container of yogurt between her ringed hands.

“You aren’t,” Adam assured. He glanced at the doorway, unable to see into the reading room but staring as if he could anyway. “You aren’t going to kill him, Blue.”

“But what if it isn’t safe?”

Adam let his eyes flick back to hers, the answer spilling from his lips before he could stop it. “Nothing is safe.”

He didn’t mean to say that, not exactly, but it carried the same effect. In his head he heard Gansey’s voice, honeyed and smooth, safe as life.  
Blue must have deemed it an acceptable answer, as she didn’t say anything more. Instead they heard the front door open and close, made room for Henry at the kitchen table, and waited for footsteps to emerge from the reading room. When Gansey finally entered, face barely masking his exhaustion, Blue glanced at Adam, eyebrows drawn and lip sucked in between her teeth.  
The psychics followed and soon the kitchen at 300 Fox Way was noisy and full. Henry was laughing, his expression alone radiating enough comfort to put the room at ease. Gansey leaned casually against one counter, his t-shirt rumbled and his hair mused, but possessing a beating heart. Adam noticed that only one person remained outside of the kitchen. Gansey’s gaze met Adam’s, a silent conversation exchanging.

With a small sigh, Adam pushed from the table and directed himself toward the reading room. He couldn’t advise Blue to not be afraid while also being a coward himself.

Ronan was a statue. His jaw, sharp and threatening, was carved by stone and his skin luminous in the light. He was sitting in an armchair at the head of the table, unmoving and pensive, wicked gaze on the stack of cards laid before him. He didn’t turn at the sound of footsteps and Adam was glad. Ronan’s eyes might have been enough to make him hesitate.

Adam moved behind the chair so that the back of Ronan’s shaved head was all he could see. He approached slowly, letting his hands fall onto the back of the cushion as he peered over Ronan’s shoulder at the spread of cards.  
Ronan moved a fraction, his back relaxing against the seat. They weren’t touching, but Adam was close enough to feel the warmth from his body.

“I’m not drinking anymore fucking tea.” Ronan’s voice was rough, but lacked heat. He sounded tired. They were all tired.

“I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Adam responded, his voice, in comparison, only slightly stronger.

Upon hearing him, Ronan relaxed even more, letting his back rest fully against the chair. His shoulders grazed Adam’s hand, black t-shirt soft against his knuckles. It was barely anything. It could barely pass as even touching, but it warmed Adam and urged him closer. Carefully, he moved down to his forearms, using the back of the chair to support his weight, and making his head nearly level with Ronan’s.

“Ronan,” Adam said.

When Ronan finally turned, one dark eyebrow raised, they were inches apart. Ronan blinked at the proximity, but didn’t pull away, his blue eyes seeking Adam’s. The light made his face unbearably handsome, and Adam feared for a moment that this wasn’t something he was allowed to have. This wasn’t a game he was allowed to play. But it didn’t feel like a game and Ronan had already given him all the permission necessary. Now, it was just a matter of acting on his desire. Sounds from the kitchen echoed through the room, feeding  
Adam with enough courage to move forward and press his lips against Ronan’s.

Everything was still for a moment. It felt achingly similar to Ronan’s bedroom and Adam half expected to open his eyes and see a toy car discarded beside them.

But then Ronan reacted, sighing into Adam’s mouth and raising one hand to pull Adam closer. It wasn’t the best angle. In hindsight, Adam should have given this more thought. But in the moment it didn’t matter. Adam leaned further over the chair, half draped over it, letting one hand slip under Ronan’s chin while his other arm kept his balance. Ronan twisted in his seat, head tilted up to capture Adam’s lips again, and again, and again.  
When Adam finally pulled away, his breathing was unsteady and his heart pounded against his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to think this through before realizing that analyzing this would be to analyze everything that had happened in the past few months.

“Parrish?” Ronan said.

Adam immediately opened his eyes and simultaneously decided that there was no sense in analyzing this anyway. He had already made his decision. He had already answered Ronan Lynch’s question.

He smiled. It was a small, soft gesture, and felt unnatural given the events of the last few days, but Ronan’s mouth quirked at the sight of it and that was enough for Adam.

“Come on,” Adam said, straightening up. He rubbed his hand over Ronan’s head, jostling him just enough. “Maura made tea.”

\-------------------------------------------------

They never talked about it.

They never questioned why Ronan’s gaze always seemed to linger on Adam’s hands, on his eyes, on his lips. They never questioned how Adam yielded to his hunger at the strangest of times, pushing Ronan against walls and cars, unashamed of his desperation and need. They never questioned what they were doing to each other.

Adam realized that it was a conversation they probably needed to have, but the idea of sitting down with Ronan Lynch and forcing him into the What Are We talk was enough to make his stomach churn. Three weeks of kissing Ronan, of holding his hand under tables and exchanging secret smiles when no one else was looking, hadn’t eased the doubt that Adam clutched to like a life preserver.

He was scared of showing how much he cared. Scared of breaking an already broken boy. Scared that he would ask _what are we_ only to have Ronan respond with _nothing_.  
So they never talked about it.

They did, however, try to talk about everything else.

“What if we couldn’t bring him back?” Ronan said.

They had been sitting in the BMW, parked outside of Monmouth, the engine on but the parking break pulled. Even in the dim light, Adam could see the grief on Ronan’s face.

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. He didn’t want to think about it. A world without Richard Gansey III was not a world that he chose to consider. He imagined, though, that it would be much lonelier.

“If he . . . If he didn’t . . .” Ronan’s voice was lost in the sound of the engine, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Adam didn’t want to look at him, because to see the pain would be to feel it for himself, but he did anyway. “I don’t think I would have recovered, Adam.”

Adam thought about Ronan’s insistence on staying at Monmouth. He thought about how reluctant Ronan had been to leave Gansey, even a day after finding Glendower, even for no longer than an hour. He thought about his savage grief, his broken tears, his knees on the pavement next to his brother’s lifeless body.

Adam reached for Ronan’s hand, gently prying his white-knuckled grip from the wheel, and slowly wove their fingers together. It was the only thing he could think to do. It was the only comfort that he could offer. Ronan accepted it, his grip tightening on Adam’s hand. He let his head fall back against the seat, tilting his chin so that his throat was exposed to the moonlight.

“You can relax, Parrish. I’m not going to fucking cry.”

Adam hadn’t realized he was staring. He blinked, wondering exactly how long Ronan had permitted his gaze, but did not avert his eyes.

“We should go in,” Adam said finally. He studied Ronan’s profile, sharp and haunting in the dashboard lights, and then directed his attention to Monmouth. “Apparently Cheng brought Monopoly.”

Ronan cursed, low and filthy, but pushed open his door seconds later. Adam followed him inside, wondering if he would he would have recovered if Gansey had died a permanent death. Adam didn’t know.

Despite everything, Monmouth turned out to be a haven. It was generally understood that Ronan would eventually move back to the Barns, just as it was understood that he would no longer attend Aglionby. Gansey never questioned it. In fact, the subject of Ronan’s school attendance never came up again. Maybe it was because he was still instinctively protective over Gansey, or maybe it was because his own grief made the idea of being alone nearly unbearable, or maybe it was because he was no longer exiled from his home and instead simply delaying his inevitable return, but for whatever reason Ronan embraced Monmouth in a way that Adam had never seen before.

Monmouth had always been Ronan’s by association, but now he seemed to accept partial ownership.

“Parrish, finally!” Gansey said when Ronan and Adam let themselves into the apartment. “What took you so long?”

“You know Ronan,” Adam said, lifting his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “He drives like an old woman.”

Ronan snorted, crossing the room in several long strides and throwing himself onto the leather couch. His actions jostled Blue, who had been peacefully reading the Monopoly instructions on the other end.

“Hey!” Blue turned to glare at Ronan, who had dropped his booted feet onto her lap with little warning. “Ask first, asshole.”  
Ronan only smirked.

Cheng appeared from the bathroom/kitchen/laundry holding a mug and wearing a smile. When he noticed Adam, his grin widened. It was an automatic reaction, Adam had realized. Henry was a smiler, and it was infectious. It was one of the many thing he had brought to the group: infectious smiling, eighties disco music, and an endless collection of nicknames for each of them.

“Finally!” Henry’s voice was as bright as his grin. “Does this mean we can start the game?”

Ronan cursed in response, earning an eye roll from Henry and a sharp laugh from Blue.

Adam turned to Gansey. “Should we let him play?”

“Oh, sure,” Gansey said, pushing his glasses up his nose with his index finger. “Ronan is good sport, I suppose. If you don’t mind the pieces smashed at the end of the game.”

So they played Monopoly.  
It was a new attempt at normalcy. They tried to be teenagers – normal, human teenagers – playing a board game on a Friday night, talking about school and about each other. Adam complained about college applications, Blue described Orla’s latest conquest in love, Ronan told stories about Opal. Henry, to absolutely no one’s surprise, won monopoly. Another hour was spent playing pool (“playing” being a loose term, as Gansey and Ronan hit each other with the cues more than they seemed to hit the balls) and working on Gansey’s miniature Henrietta (Henry had added flora).

They called it a night after the yawns became too contagious to ignore. After a chaste press of her lips to Gansey’s, a sleepy goodbye hug for Adam, and a friendly slap of her hand on the back of Ronan’s neck, Blue followed Henry into the night. Normally, Gansey would have taken her home himself, but he was tired enough to give into convenience and let Henry whisk her away in the Fisker.

Adam directed himself toward Noah’s old room but, at the last second, checked his gate and followed Ronan.  
When the door shut behind them, Ronan raised an eyebrow.

Adam knew he should say something. It had been three weeks and Ronan’s gravitational pull was only growing stronger. Adam felt it more and more every day.  
But instead of words, instead of even attempting to find an adequate string of syllables to explain the overwhelming thoughts harrowing his mind, Adam snaked his hand around Ronan’s neck and kissed him.

Ronan reciprocated instantly.

His lips were warm and inviting and opened for Adam without complaint. Adam shivered when Ronan’s tongue touched his. Their mouths slid together in a slow, dreamy dance that left Adam’s head tingling with white noise. His hand tightened on the back of Ronan’s neck, pulling him closer and closer.  
They did this a lot. Getting lost in Ronan Lynch was something of a blessing for Adam. Each kiss felt new and exciting. Each touch was different than the last. He waited for the day when their lips would meet and he wouldn’t feel the energy, the passion, the unimaginable burn in his chest, but it hadn’t come. He hoped it never would.  
Ronan’s hands found their way to Adam’s hips. He slipped his hand under Adam’s shirt, letting his fingers trail along the skin above his jeans while he sucked Adam’s bottom lip into his mouth. Adam gasped, pulling the other boy with enough force that his back slammed into the door.

Ronan pulled away, eyes dark and mouth quirked.

“Jesus, Parrish,” he mused.

“Shut up.”

Adam allowed himself a second to consider Gansey. They weren’t exactly being quiet, but his concern for the matter lessened with every second that Ronan’s body was pressed against his. When Ronan pressed his full weight against Adam, who was grasping onto the wall with one hand and clutching Ronan with the other, he decided that Gansey owned headphones and could damn well use them.

When they kissed again, it was hungrier.

Desperation wasn’t unusual for them. They had done this much before. Ronan’s shirt was always the first to go and then, after his hands were given ample time to explore a terrain that was becoming more and more familiar to him, Adam’s would soon follow. But they were wary of moving past that. Everything was so new. Everything past here, for both Adam and Ronan, would be the first. It was an exciting and dangerous exchange that Adam was determined not to mess up.

Adam’s other the hand, the one that had been holding onto the wall for dear life, slid to the small of Ronan’s back. With one firm pull, Adam closed any distance that had remained between the two of them. Ronan’s hips slotted against Adam’s and the firm press of their bodies meshed together earned a groan from them both.

“Adam,” Ronan said, the word melting onto Adam’s lips.

Adam wasn’t sure if Ronan was asking a question or simply enjoying the moment, but it encouraged him enough to roll his hips forward, grinding softly against the bulge in Ronan’s jeans.

This was new.

“Fuck.” Ronan’s body went ridged. For a moment, Adam thought that he had gone too far. It was possible that Ronan wasn’t ready for this. They should have talked, they should have discussed it, Adam knew that they should have discussed –

Ronan thrusted forward.

He was much less gentle than Adam had been and the movement caused Adam to gasp, loud and surprised. Ronan’s lips attached to Adam’s neck, sucking and biting as he rocked his hips at a steady pace.

Adam was completely undone. He did what he could to slow his breathing, to catch his heartbeat. But it was no use. Ronan was demolishing him, breaking him down with slow, purposeful gestures. They were both fully clothed, doing nothing more than moving against each other in the darkness, but it felt like so much more. Adam was being converted, and his religion was tearing him apart.

Ronan’s hands moved to either side of Adam’s lead, using the door for leverage as he ground into him. His head fell to Adam’s shoulder, breath shuddering against his collarbone.

“Come on, Lynch,” Adam said, his voice somewhere between a groan and a whine.

That was all it took. One second Ronan was forcefully and dominantly moving against Adam, and the next he was unfurling, his voice a muffle of groans into Adam’s skin.

Adam worked his way through it. He thrusted his body into Ronan’s shaking one, letting his head fall against the door, knowing that he wasn’t long behind. When Ronan’s mouth pressed against his jaw, light and unbelievably gentle, Adam came undone.

It was impossible to know how long they stood there. He felt Ronan’s lips ghost over his jaw, his cheek, his temple, before finally pressing against his mouth. Adam ran a trembling hand over Ronan’s head, letting it trail down his skull and stop at his neck, where the inky black tattoo was curling from his t-shirt.

“Are you sleeping here tonight?”

Adam wasn’t sure if he heard the words as much as he absorbed them.

Here. As in Ronan’s room. This was all so new.

Adam nodded.

“Alright.” Ronan said.

They untangled their bodies, both a little hesitant to abandon the warmth of the other. Ronan handed Adam a clean shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. They took turns going to the bathroom, careful not to wake up Gansey who was curled on his mattress, music escaping from his headphones, glasses still perched on his nose. When Adam returned, Ronan was already in the bed.

Adam slid under the covers, careful not to cross onto Ronan’s side. They stayed like that for a minute or so, not moving, not talking, before Ronan sighed. It was a soft noise that penetrated the silence of the darkness. Slowly, Ronan drew closer to Adam, reaching one hand across his waist to pull him near.  
Adam relaxed into his touch, and they fell asleep like that. Close, but not too close. A blossoming faith in the night.


	2. If I Told You I Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan isn't good at feelings. Neither is Adam.

Communication was where they stumbled.

Ronan knew this. He also knew that it was primarily his fault.

Adam, ever the analyst, was open to discussion, to explanations, to a scientific approach at solving all of their problems. Ronan was not.

He was, however, open to fighting. Which they did. A lot.

Ronan’s anger, which was irrevocably tethered to his grief, brewed under his skin with itching insistence. He was an active volcano, spewing lava with no remorse or regret, and Adam was a frequent victim of his eruptions. This didn’t surprise anyone, least of all Adam, who claimed that Ronan’s quarrelsome nature was synonymous with his beating heart. Ronan was aware that there were other ways to go about solving problems, or at least approaching them, but he didn’t know how. His fury pulsed through his skin, wove into his veins, and leaked onto Adam with no consideration for peaceful alternatives.

Whatever they were to each other, whatever they had become, didn’t buy immunity from their respective frustrations. Adam was still exhausted by Ronan’s antics, some days wanting nothing more than to get the razor-edged boy as far away from him as possible. Ronan was still maddened by Adam, who he frequently lost patience with. This wasn’t in any way alarming. Ronan lost patience with everyone.

They only person exempt from Ronan’s fury was Gansey, and Ronan himself could sense that this era of tranquility was coming to an end. Since his death, Ronan had been careful around Gansey, tiptoeing where he would have normally stomped. But now that it was clear that Gansey wasn’t going to drop dead on them anytime soon, Ronan was slowly letting himself act on his irritations.

Not that Gansey cared. He had long been immune to Ronan’s fits of anger. It was a beneficial outcome of longtime exposer.

“I’m not inviting him.”

“Ronan,” Gansey said, hardly looking up from the book he was reading. Ronan realized that they had been discussing this for ten minutes. “He is your brother. It is Thanksgiving. Stop being difficult.”

Ronan’s lip curved into a snarl. “I’m not being difficult.”

Gansey just looked at him.

“Jesus, fuck. Fine.” Ronan stomped with no real purpose, angrily pacing just to angrily pace as Gansey watched with an unamused expression. “I’ll invite Declan to fucking Thanksgiving if it means that much to you. Fuck. You win. Happy?”

He looked to Gansey, who had enough decency to not look smug. He did, though, look entirely unsurprised at Ronan’s compliance. It pissed Ronan off.

“I mean,” Gansey mused. “I’m not unhappy.”

Ronan swore and stormed into his bedroom. He slammed his door hard enough that the room seemed to shake. The vibration of the walls soothed him, granted him a hint of stability, so he slammed the door one more time, for good measure, before throwing himself onto his bed.

He sat there for a minute, waiting for the heat to leave his body. He shouldn’t have been as angry as he was. He and Declan had gotten better. True, there had been nowhere to go but up, but Ronan had developed an ounce of respect for his older brother that he hadn’t possessed before.

Maybe not an ounce. A _gram_ of respect.

Ronan put on his headphones and blasted something noisy and pulsing, feeling the beat throb in his head while he thought about his argument with Adam.

It was that fight, which had ended with Ronan pulling out of St. Agnes with enough pent up energy and aggression to momentarily make him yearn for the appearance of a white Mitsubishi, which triggered the caustic temperament he felt boiling behind his skin. It wasn’t the worst fight they’ve had. In fact, it was nowhere close. But mixing an argument with Adam Parrish with a mentioning of Declan Lynch was a surefire way to set Ronan’s gasoline fueled temper aflame.

“You didn’t really just suggest that,” Adam had said.

Ronan stared back at him, gaze unflinching. “I think I did.”

Adam was exhausted that night. A day of Aglionby was tiring enough on its own but he had worked a six hour shift at Boyd’s immediately after, the effects of which were drastically evident on his face. As soon as Ronan suggested quitting one his three jobs, he realized it was a mistake. Though it was almost always a mistake to try to convince Adam to readjust his demanding lifestyle, this time was more mistake than usual. Because Adam had been exhausted.

“I can’t quit my job,” Adam had said, face stone-cold and impassive. “Things cost money, Ronan. Some people actually have to work for it.”

Ronan shot back, “It’s just one fucking job. I could always –“

“Don’t.” Adam’s voice was low and furious, his exhaustion yielding to the impending anger. “Don’t even say it.”

Ronan didn’t. He had to press his lips together into a tight line to keep from it, but he didn’t say it. He had heard of this argument before, though he had usually been on the sidelines, observing from a distance and preparing for the consequences.

“Sometimes you sound just like Gansey,” Adam had said. His tone left nothing for the imagination and Ronan couldn’t bite his tongue any longer.

“And what the hell is wrong with that? We aren’t buying you, Parrish. We are trying to help you.”

Adam blinked. His dusty skin tinted pink with fury. When he spoke, his words were slow and intentional. “I don’t need help. Not from Gansey, not from you. I don’t want it.”

It had struck Ronan harder than he thought it would.  _I don’t need help_ had sounded an awful lot like _I don’t need you_ , and the fear of the latter was enough to make Ronan’s shoulders tense.

“Whatever, man,” Ronan said finally. “Get over yourself.”

And then he had stormed out, acidic mouth sucking in the late-November air.

Communication was where he stumbled. Ronan could have said a million things. He could have said what he really meant, which was that he didn’t like seeing Adam like that. He didn’t like the circles under his eyes or the spastic twitching of his hands or the way he had to force himself to keep his eyes open enough to look at Ronan. He could have said that, but it wasn’t the Ronan Lynch brand.

Pride was also where they stumbled.

They hadn’t spoken since last night. This was how it usually went: they fought, gave each other ample time to cool off, and then resumed life as normal. Sometimes, when the heart of the argument was Ronan wanting to be angry just to feel it or Adam’s frustration with school work, they wouldn’t need to cool off at all. They would vent, and growl, and snip until they realized the remedy was being together. Sometimes, and this had been a rare occurrence in their month-long relationship, Gansey was enlisted as referee.

Gansey was a last resort solution, one that they reserved for the worst of fights. He was meant for when Adam was feeling aloof and unknowable or for when Ronan was being impossible and chaotic. Ronan didn’t believe he was necessary for this particular argument.

Something nudged at his leg, jostling him out of his contemplation. He opened his eyes to see Adam.

Adam had just gotten off of work. His coveralls were unzipped, tied loosely at the waist, and he was wearing an expression that was mildly hostile and more than a little wary.

Ronan took off his headphones.

“We’re going to Nino’s,” Adam said.

Ronan looked at him, trying to gage whether or not he was forgiven yet.

Adam left the room without another word.

Decidedly not forgiven.

Ronan followed. Henry had appeared and was talking to Gansey using wide hand gestures and a lot of phrases that, on paper, would end in exclamation marks. When they noticed Ronan, Gansey dug his keys out of his pocket and led them to the Camaro.

Normally, Ronan would abdicate his passenger seat throne in order to sit next to Adam, but Adam was still not meeting his eye, so Henry was forced into the back while Ronan did his best to look as unperturbed as possible.

Blue smiled brightly when they entered and held up her hands, signaling that she would be off in seven minutes. Gansey got a table, Henry ordered drinks, Adam ignored Ronan, and Ronan pulled at his bracelets. When Blue finally joined them, she picked up on the tension immediately.

“What’s going on?” She asked, sliding into the booth next to Adam.

“Lynch doesn’t want to invite Declan to Thanksgiving,” Gansey said. Either he was incredibly oblivious or purposefully choosing to not bring up Ronan and Adam’s current cold war. Both were equally likely.

Blue looked at Ronan. “He’s your brother.”

Ronan glared back. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Gansey ordered for the table and no one complained, not even Henry who had been making noise about going vegan the week before. Adam and Blue talked about school, bouncing topics back and forth like a game of intellectual ping pong. Gansey was doing his best to entertain both Henry and Ronan, having trouble solely because of Ronan’s lack of participation.

“We should invite him out sometime,” Gansey was saying to Henry. The pizza had been demolished and he had all but given up on Ronan.

This caught Ronan’s attention. They didn’t just invite people out. He didn’t think any of them were in any position to be making new friends, and even considered Henry to be a bit of a stretch.

Ronan looked at Gansey. “What?”

“Cheng Two,” Henry answered.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Ronan,” Gansey said, lowering his voice in the nearly-empty restaurant. “Language.”

“Sorry. Whom the fuck is that?”

Gansey sighed.

Adam’s silence was beginning to dig into Ronan. He could feel the weight of it – or, rather, the lack of any acknowledgment of existence – sink into his skin like a dirty needle. It wasn’t until Gansey told the story of Ronan’s scar, a small pale line that cut through his right eyebrow, that Adam gave him attention.

“He made this dingy ramp,” Gansey was saying, all ears tuned to listen. “And told Matthew and I that he could jump over the BMW on his skateboard. Interesting enough, he landed it the first time.”

Blue raised an eyebrow. “And after that?”

“After that I ate shit,” Ronan answered.

It happened before Niall Lynch’s death, before the introduction of Adam, before Ronan became Ronan. Recklessness was a family trait, one that simmered in Lynch blood like a desperate curse, and Ronan had always possessed more of it than his brothers.

The story caught Adam’s attention, just as stories of a past Ronan usually did. To him, they were fascinating. He likened them to bedtime stories, too unimaginable and bright to ever be true.

“You jumped over the BMW on a skateboard?” Adam said, turning to Ronan with raised eyebrows. This particular story he could believe.

Something about Adam’s wide-eyed expression unnerved Ronan, flushed him with both embarrassment and frustration. He said, “Are you talking to me now, Parrish?”

Adam went still. His features shifted until he looked almost bored with Ronan. “And now I regret it.”

Ronan’s shoulders rolled back, hands tightening instinctively. If the others hadn’t noticed the tension before, they noticed it now, because all three of them were moving to their feet, making lazy excuses about the car and the check and the twenty-five cent tattoos at the front.

Gansey was the last to leave, wincing slightly at Ronan and Adam’s unbreakable stare. He knocked his fist against the table twice, a nervous, Gansey-like gesture, before following Blue and Henry.

Ronan almost wished he would stay. Maybe this argument would require his input after all.

It was Ronan who broke first. He didn’t look away from Adam, but did his best to reign in the scowl that had materialized on his face.

“We aren’t past this yet, Parrish?” He said, crossing his arms and doing his best to not look overly interested. Adam saw right through him and rolled his eyes in response. It was painful and made Ronan instantaneously vulnerable. “Shit, man. What do you want me to say? I’m sorry for giving a damn about your health? Okay. My fucking bad. You don’t need my help. I got it.”

Adam blinked. Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn’t it.

“Adam. Say something.”

When Adam spoke, his voice was tight and his anger abandoned. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just talk to me.”

“No, Ronan. I can’t.” Adam shook his head, angry expression melting into something helpless and wanting. “I don’t _know_ what to _say_.”

When Adam met his eyes again, Ronan realized that perhaps he wasn’t entirely to blame for the communication problems. Maybe he wasn’t the only one constantly battling his anger. Maybe this fight wasn’t about what he had said above the church, but what the fight above the church signified. Maybe, this time, there was no right way to approach the problem. They just had to approach it.

So instead of responding with words, Ronan stood up and slid next to Adam on the opposite side of the booth. When their shoulders touched, Adam relaxed, releasing some of the tension he had been holding since the night before.

“I don’t know why I’m so angry,” Adam admitted. His eyes were on the table and were impossible for Ronan to read, but his hands were folded tightly in his lap. Whatever they were feeling – anger, fear, uncertainty – they were feeling it together.

“Maybe because I’m an asshole,” Ronan suggested. He tried to keep his tone light, but an edge of apprehension snuck in. As if sensing his discomfort, his crippling fear that he was moments away from being told something he didn’t want to hear, Adam took his hand. It was all of the reassurance necessary.

“Maybe,” Adam mused, pressing his palm against Ronan’s. Ronan snorted and pushed his shoulders against Adam. It was affectionate and teasing, and he could feel the tension absolve from him as well when Adam shoved him back with enough force to move his body over an inch.

“Easy, Parrish,” Ronan warned. But Adam didn’t go easy. In fact, he shoved Ronan again, because he was also an asshole.

It became a playful back and forth. Their hands went from pleasantly pressed together to straining in combat. Ronan’s other hand was grasping onto the table, his foot hooked around Adam’s ankle, as he desperately tried to secure his seat at the table. It was no use. With a strategic pinch to Ronan’s side and a mighty shove, Adam succeeded in unseating Ronan, who toppled from the booth and landed onto the floor with a mighty thud and a curse.

“Shit,” Ronan said, glaring up at a laughing Adam from his position on the ground.

The sound was enough to draw the attention of Gansey. He looked amused as he extended a hand towards Ronan, pulling him up in one smooth motion.

“Ready to go?” Gansey said as Adam fought to catch his breath.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Parrish is walking.”

They climbed back into the pig, this time with Blue installed in the passenger’s seat while Ronan sat pressed against Adam in the back. On the way to Monmouth, Ronan intertwined their fingers and rubbed smooth circles onto the back of Adam’s hand with his thumb.

Blue hummed along to the music. Henry began to doze off. Adam pressed a small kiss to Ronan’s temple. Gansey drove.

Ronan was no longer angry.

 

\-------------------------

 

Passion was where they thrived.

Each time Adam kissed him, Ronan’s heart stopped.

It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was more difficult to comprehend than his dreaming, more mystical and unbelievable than anything that he could create in his head. Out of all things in his life that couldn’t be real, that shouldn’t be real, Ronan decided that Adam reigned.

It was Adam that made him look twice. Adam that made him question his life, retrace every decision he had ever made in some hopes of discovering how he could have possibly gotten here. He must have done something right, something among his sins that granted him a sliver of light in the unrelenting bleakness of his life.

Something that granted him nights like tonight.

“That’s Orion’s Belt,” Ronan said, raising his finger to point at the sprawling Virginia sky.

They were on their backs outside of Monmouth, bodies facing opposite directions but heads resting side by side. Ronan wasn’t sure how they got here. He had picked Adam up from work with every intention of bringing him back to Monmouth to study with Gansey for midterms, but somewhere along the way they had gotten distracted and ended up on the asphalt gazing at the night sky.

“You know about _stars_?” Adam laughed, looking to where Ronan was pointing.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Sorry,” Adam said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just surprising. Hobbies of Ronan Lynch include street racing, drinking, fighting, and . . . stargazing.”

Ronan’s mouth quirked. “You forgot arson.”

Adam laughed again and Ronan’s upturned lip morphed into a full smile at the sound. “Right, right. Street racing, drinking, fighting, stargazing, and arson.”

“What can I say? I’m a damn catch.”

Winter was close. Leaves had all but disappeared from the trees, the air was chilly enough to see their breath, and Ronan had to ditch his typical t-shirt/tank top ensemble for something that provided more warmth.

On nights like these, however, with Adam’s body radiating heat next to his, he didn’t mind the cold.

“Aren’t you supposed to be studying with Gansey?” Ronan asked, eyes locked on passing airplane that sparkled red against the array of constellations.

“Yeah,” Adam responded. He didn’t sound particularly concerned. “Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’ve been trying for two years, Parrish.”

He felt Adam look at him, so he turned his head as well. They were an inch apart at most, Adam’s smiling lips directly in front of Ronan’s eyes.

He could feel gravel digging into his back. He knew that his sweater was going to be covered in dirt. He realized that Gansey was inside, either anxiously worrying about their wellbeing or so engrossed in some other activity that he hadn’t yet realized how long Ronan had been gone.

All of it faded away as he leaned in to kiss Adam. He had to adjust his head, tilting upwards so that their lips could meet evenly. The ground was rough against his cheek but Adam’s mouth was soft and insistent.

Eventually, Ronan rolled on his side, positioning himself over Adam so that they could kiss easily, fluidly. Adam’s hand held Ronan in place, his fingers brushing over his cheekbones as he slipped his tongue into Ronan’s mouth. It was slow and peaceful, lacking urgency but somehow not ignoring passion.

Passion, after all, was where they thrived.

Adam broke away a few moments later. He pressed a final kiss to Ronan’s chin before moving to sit up, forcing Ronan to move with him.

“I actually do have to study,” Adam said.

Ronan sighed, but waved a hand in the direction on Monmouth. “Go on, then.”

Adam stood and dusted the gravel from his pants. When he was done, he offered his hand to Ronan who shook his head and pressed his back against the asphalt once more.

“I’ll stay.”

Adam stared at him for a moment, eyebrow quirked, lips parted. He said, “Alright. Try not to get into any trouble.”

Ronan’s smile was dangerous. “No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't as much of a story as it random chronological looks into Ronan and Adam's life post-TRK.  
> No real plot will be found here, I am not Maggie, I am not creative enough. The most I can give you is fluff and some slow-burning, eventual smut. And maybe some feelings here and there.  
> Okay. Lots of feelings everywhere.


	3. Lost My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan and Adam go a little crazy.

Adam was losing his mind.

It wasn’t the same unrelenting insanity that he felt over the summer, the one that lashed out at Gansey, the one that questioned his place in a world he didn’t belong to. It wasn’t the same pulsing lunacy that he felt with Cabeswater, with the mystical forest speaking in one ear while his own brain fought to be heard in the other. It wasn’t the madness that he felt with Ronan, the one that occurred in dark corners and in silent gestures, with his hands trailing down Ronan’s stomach with single-minded intensity.

This was entirely different.

He was sitting inside Monmouth working on yet another college application essay. The December sun was breaking through the floor to ceiling windows. Monmouth was nearly impossible to heat, so Adam was curled on the couch wearing two sweatshirts (a frayed, worn one that belonged to him and a soft black one that belonged to Ronan) and covered with Gansey’s comforter that he had stolen from the bed.

It was rare for him to be the only one inside Monmouth, but there he was, working on his essay in a state of peace and tranquility that he would normally beg for. Though today, he wasn’t satisfied.

Maybe this was because Adam was not completely alone. He could hear Ronan and Gansey, their voices echoing from the parking lot where they were doing some trivial activity that could eventually involve the Henrietta police.

“Gansey. Man, don’t. Don’t do it. Gansey!” Ronan’s voice, which was halfway to a laugh, echoed around the high ceilings of Monmouth. A few seconds later there was a magnificent crash, and poetic slew of cursing, and the loud, unapologetic laugh of Richard Gansey the III.     

Adam was losing his mind.

He felt suffocated. Not by what he was doing, but what he wasn’t doing. He wasn’t outside helping his friends demolish whatever machine part they had found in the basement of Monmouth. He wasn’t laughing with Gansey, or flirting with Ronan. He was inside. Alone. Working on another damn college essay.

The pent up energy was causing his hands to twitch.

“Too far, Lynch!” Gansey called. “Too far!”

“Take off your training wheels, Dick!”

Adam shut the laptop with a sharp snap, and was moving to his feet before he could contemplate the consequences of his actions. When he stepped outside he noticed that the air smelled like fire and metal, and wondered just how much damage the two boys had done.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Adam said as he rounded the corner.

The backside of the lot, which was usually covered in tall grass and weeds during the warmer months, had been converted into a war zone. Gansey and Ronan had retrieved enough abandoned junk from the basement to build small forts of metal. Gansey, who was crouched behind what looked like the hood of truck, turned at the sound of his voice.

“Parrish! Were we too lou-“

Gansey was cut off by the force of something solid hitting his makeshift shield. He stumbled back a few steps but stayed upright, glaring in the direction of the assault. Adam followed his eyes to where Ronan was positioned across the field. He had a small pile of rocks by his feet. 

Adam turned back to Gansey. “This doesn’t seem dangerous at all.”       

“Believe it or not,” Gansey started, picking up small stone from the pile at his own feet. “He started it.”

And then, with a throw that would have made all members of the Aglionby rowing team proud, Gansey launched the stone at Ronan. Adam didn’t see where it landed but heard the curse that followed.

It would have been a gritty, marvelous display of combat if Gansey’s phone hadn’t begun to ring. The upbeat ringtone he had programmed for Helen’s phone calls was unnatural and loud, and caused Gansey to drop the handful of rocks he had been holding. He stood, released his shield, and pressed his palm against the tips of his fingers on his other hand, signaling a time out.

“Man the fort,” Gansey said, affectionately clapping Adam on the back before digging his cell phone from his pocket.

Adam did not man the fort. He did, however, cross the parking lot to where Ronan was still crouched, an act that Gansey may have considered as betrayal.

“How’s the essay coming?” Ronan asked when Adam drew near. His eyes were still locked on Gansey, trailing his pacing form as if the phone call was just a hoax to get Ronan to let down his guard.

Adam said, “Its coming.”

They didn’t speak for a moment. Ronan watched Gansey while Adam watched Ronan. Adam was losing his mind. It wasn’t exhaustion that he was feeling. He wasn’t angry or even necessarily stressed. It wasn’t desire that he was feeling either, though when he looked at Ronan he realized that a hint of desire could be consistently found somewhere within him. He was just . . . dissatisfied.

“I need your help with something,” Adam told him.

Ronan, still not turned away from his opponent, replied, “What?”

Adam said nothing. A beat passed, and then another, and then another, before Ronan finally looked at him. Adam wasn’t sure what emotion was on his face just then, but whatever it was made Ronan’s eyebrows raise.

“Now?”

Adam nodded, cold air whipping at his lips. “Now.”

Ronan stood immediately. He crossed the parking lot so quickly that Gansey flinched at his speed, holding one hand in front of him as if to fend off an attack. Ronan only brushed by him, saying “time out” as he passed.

Adam followed, catching Gansey’s eye as he went. Gansey’s gaze shifted from Adam to Ronan, who was already the climbing the stairs.

“This isn’t over,” Gansey said, raising his voice so that Ronan could hear. And then, into the phone, “No, Helen. That wasn’t for you. No, I’m not trying to hang up.”

The apartment was warmer than Adam remembered. He realized that this could be due to how achingly cold it had been outside, or it could be due to Ronan, who was pulling Adam to him the minute the door was closed.

Adam kissed back, trying to release all of his energy in that one motion. It wasn’t enough. He reached for Ronan’s shirt, letting his hand slip up the plains of his taunt stomach as they stumbled backwards. Ronan’s knees hit the back of the couch and they toppled without grace, Gansey’s abandoned comforter falling to the floor in the process.

“Is this helping?” Ronan asked, falling against the couch and taking Adam down with him.

Adam kissed him by way of response, licking the seal of Ronan’s cold lips until his mouth parted. Their tongues tangled together, tasting and exploring with mindless wonder. Adam could feel himself harden against Ronan's leg, but knew better than to let things go too far here. On the couch. In the middle of Monmouth. With Gansey standing outside.

Not that “too far” would be very far at all, anyway. They were taking their relationship, physical and otherwise, slow. Some days the unhurried pace was comforting. There were no guidelines, no agendas, and no reasons to rush. Ronan did not understand casual relationships; he did not give only part of himself. And by kissing him, by entering this uncharted territory, Adam had agreed to this all or nothing approach. He had agreed to the conditions: jump in head first or stay on the shore. Now, they were discovering what exactly _all_ entailed.

Some days the unhurried pace was frustrating. Adam was a starved thing, kept from love and affection for so long that now that he possessed it, from Ronan Lynch of all people, he was insatiable. He wanted it all, and he wanted it now, then, immediately, all the time.  

With this in his mind, and with the growing erection in his jeans, Adam pulled away from Ronan, wedging himself between the back of the couch and the other boy’s body. His lips were tingling.

Ronan was looking at him and he was looking back. There was something quiet about him, and quiet wasn’t a term Adam would ever use to describe Ronan Lynch, even when silence was his most efficient weapon.

Adam said, “Have you been dreaming?”

Ronan blinked. His eyelashes were long and dark, midnight frames around a pool of light. Adam didn’t understand how he could have gone so long without noticing them.

No, he noticed them. He had just pretended to not notice them.

“No.” Ronan’s voice was clipped.

Adam closed his eyes, the suffocation almost overwhelming. What was this? What was the discomfort that pressed against his chest?

“Adam?” Ronan said, voice soft and soothing. It was the one he reserved for when Adam lost in his own head, for when Ronan had to pull him out as gently as he could. “Adam, what’s going on?”

Adam thought for a moment, trying his best to put what he was feeling in simple terms. He managed to say, “It’s too quiet.”

The moment the words left his lips, he realized that they were precisely the problem. It was _too quiet_.

Adam had grown used to the magic. He had grown accustomed to the pulsing presence of Cabeswater, the dual ownership of his hands, and ears, and eyes. He liked the idea of having a purpose. But now, now that the magical forest had been refurbished into the body of his best friend, he didn’t feel it anymore. It felt a lot like emptiness. It felt like being suffocated by nothing.

“I can’t hear you anymore, either,” Adam said, staring at the straight line of Ronan’s cheekbones.

Ronan raised a dark eyebrow, but his eyes flashed in recognition. “What do you mean?”

“You used to have a sound. Like . . . static.”

Ronan turned his head toward the ceiling, focusing on the rafters. His eyebrows were drawn together in contemplation. Ronan’s sound, which had become so natural to Adam that he didn’t realize it had existed until it wasn’t there, had been gone for weeks. Perhaps since Adam had begun to feel the emptiness inside himself.

Seeing Ronan then, his jaw tight and his lips pressed together, Adam suspected that Ronan had been introduced to the void as well. When he looked back to Adam, his expression was direct and penetrating.

Ronan said, “You should go talk to the psychics.”

 

\---------------------------------------- 

 

So Adam spoke to the psychics.

He ate pie, had his fortune told, and drank lots and lots of tea. He felt better, he felt full, he felt the small surge of energy that he had grown accustomed to. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to hold him steady until the suffocation returned.  

However, Adam’s meetings at 300 Fox Way did nothing for Ronan.

Ronan was still grieving. The loss of his mother, the loss of Cabeswater, the loss of his dreaming. He had lost more than any of them. Some days it was hard to tell. Ronan could hide his grief under his anger without being questioned or confronted. Other days, days that made Adam’s head spin with sympathy and pain, Ronan let the grief overcome him.

When he walked into Monmouth a few nights later, Ronan was drunk.

Gansey was out with Henry and Blue was back at 300 Fox Way working on a project for school. Adam had left the psychics hoping to catch a few moments alone with Ronan before returning to St. Agnes, but the moment he caught sight of Ronan he realized that their moment alone was going to be very different than the one he imagined in his head.

“Ronan?” Adam said, staring at Ronan’s dark form.

He was sitting against his unmade bed, headphones pressed to his ears, a nearly empty bottle of liquor at his feet. In that moment, Ronan was a piece of the darkness. He melted into it, coexisted with the shadows and the uncertainty. When he turned to face Adam, his eyes were darkness, too.

“Are you drunk?” Adam asked, hesitantly stepping into the room.

Ronan just stared at him. It took Adam too long to realize this was because of the music. It was playing so loud that even Adam could hear the pulsing beat. He reached out a hand and moved one of the headphones from Ronan’s closest ear.

“Are you drunk?” He repeated.

Ronan replied, “Maybe.”

Adam sighed and moved to sit beside him on the floor. The room was astoundingly dark, the only light coming from the moon and the stars from outside the window. Adam’s shoulder brushed against Ronan’s, and he noticed that the other boy was cold. Too cold for inside. Too cold for the flaming anger that pulsed through his veins.

Ronan said, “I couldn’t dream.”

Adam looked at Chainsaw, who sat in the corner of the room. He was silent and still, as if his maker’s lack of functionality affected him too. He thought about Opal, who was currently at 300 Fox Way. Some nights she would stay there, or at Monmouth, but most were spent at the Barns. Ronan checked on her while the others were at school, sometimes not feeling comfortable with leaving her alone.

They were his dream things, objects that were so unapologetically Ronan that Adam both treasured their existence and was cautious of their permanence. Ronan was a dreamer, and he could not dream.

“You could dream without Cabeswater before.”

“Yeah.” There was a long pause as Ronan gathered his drunken thoughts. “I can dream. I just . . . I just can’t dream.”

Adam said, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Ronan groaned, his head falling against the bed in frustration. The music was still playing though he wasn’t paying attention to it anymore.

It became apparent that Ronan wasn’t going to attempt to say anything else. He was done trying to explain, and decided on solely existing in his drunken state, Adam or no Adam. So Adam said, “Is this about your mom?”

It was a daring, risky thing to mention. Ronan’s grief had so many ranges, so many variations, and with the alcohol it was impossible to calculate which reaction Adam would receive.

But Ronan only closed his eyes. He was made of marble, unmoving and smooth. An offspring of the darkness. His voice was low and deadly. “I don’t know what I’ll see in there. I don’t know what I’ll bring back. It could be anything and I can’t . . . I can’t see . . .”

_Her again._

Adam understood immediately and a wave of shame washed over him for not understanding sooner.

The demon was gone. It had been erased from the real world. The damage was cleaned, covered, and hidden, with its existence all but erased. But Ronan’s mind was a different place. It didn’t abide by the laws of reality. Anything could happen, anything could resurface. The demon was gone, but it was very much alive in Ronan’s head.

His nightmares were a calculating, uncontrollable enemy.

Ronan had the ability to dream, he just wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was afraid.

So Adam said, “What do you need?”

Ronan kissed him by way of response.

It was hurried and desperate. It sought comfort and reassurance. Adam kissed back. It was the only thing he could do. Ronan nipped at Adam’s mouth until his lips parted. He tasted like liquor, but smelled like rain, so Adam pulled him closer.

Ronan’s hands were everywhere: in Adam’s hair, trailing down his cheekbone, ghosting along his sides. Adam moved with his touch, anchoring himself to it like a lifeline. Before he realized, before he could even consider controlling the situation, Ronan was on top of him. Adam was pressed against the bed, hands gripping the back of Ronan’s t-shirt as the other boy let his weight fall onto Adam’s lap.

He could feel Ronan reaching, clawing, begging Adam to pull him out of the darkness. He could feel his fear like it was his own. And, in a way, it was. Adam was tethering himself to Ronan’s beating heart and everything that came with it.

Ronan was moving against him now, using his legs to press firmly and insistently. His teeth nipped at Adam’s skin, sucked at his neck, and captured his lips. His rolling hips were hopeless and revealing, seeking release so urgently that Adam gasped, voicing his surprise at how they had gotten here so quickly.

Ronan pulled back at the noise, quick as a viper. He blinked rapidly, only just realizing what he had been doing.

“Fuck, Adam,” Ronan said, pulling his hand away from Adam’s skin and pressing it against his head. He rocked back onto his knees so that they were no longer touching. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . shit.”

Adam watched him, still shocked into silence. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his throat. His hands were limp in his lap, fingers still curved from their grip on Ronan’s shirt.

Ronan was ashamed. His chin was ducked, mouth unpleasantly twisted. Adam could see the regret and the anger boiling beneath his pale skin.

But there was nothing to be sorry for.

“It’s okay,” Adam found his voice. “It’s okay.”

He reached for Ronan, clutching his strong hands, trying to pull the other boy back to him. But Ronan didn’t waver. He was unbelievably strong and unthinkably repentant.

“Ronan,” Adam said. “Ronan it’s okay. I promise.”

When Ronan still didn’t move, Adam readjusted, climbing to his knees so that they were eye to eye, face to face, chest to chest. He pressed closer, eyes desperately trying to catch Ronan’s. It wasn’t until he pressed a kiss to Ronan’s clenched jaw that he felt him loosen, relinquish some of his tension.

Adam reached for the hem of Ronan’s shirt, dragging it up the smooth skin of his chest. Once it was off, he removed his own and then pressed himself against Ronan, trailing his lips along his cheek. He kissed his chin, he mouthed over his neck, he sucked at his collarbone. He let his hands explore his chest, fingers catching on ribs and the muscles of his stomach. Adam didn’t stop until he reached Ronan’s jeans, his fingers dipping into the waistband cautiously.

“It’s okay,” Adam whispered.

And then Ronan was kissing him again, mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue. His hands wove into Adam’s hair, tugging just hard enough. When Adam unbuttoned Ronan’s jeans, Ronan bit Adam’s lip. When Adam slipped into Ronan’s underwear, Ronan kissed Adam’s neck. When Adam took Ronan in his hand, Ronan groaned into Adam’s shoulder.

The only sound in the room, other than their respective groans and gasps, was the abandoned music spilling from Ronan’s headphones. The night was darker. Clouds had overtaken the moon, but Adam could no longer feel the darkness. He wanted. He wanted now, then, immediately, all the time.

Adam cupped the back of Ronan’s neck with one hand, holding him in place while he worked at him with the other. His movements were sloppy and quick, hands sliding up and down Ronan’s cock with no real rhythm. He was exploring, trying to discover what made Ronan’s breath hitch, what made him groan, what made him shake in his arms.

He didn't know how long it took. It could have been five minutes, it could have been ten, it could have been an hour. All he knew was that Ronan let go with a groan, falling against Adam in a mindless, boneless movement that had Adam’s own pants feeling uncomfortably tight.

Ronan’s forehead rested against Adam’s, his brilliant blue eyes open and hazy with the aftermath of pleasure. He was breathing hard.

Adam said, “You better remember this tomorrow.”

Ronan, who seemed to be more drunk on Adam than he had been on alcohol, replied, “How could I forget.”

Adam removed his hand from Ronan’s underwear. He reached for Ronan’s t-shirt and used it to wipe his fingers and his palm.

Ronan’s nose wrinkled. “Gross.”

Adam kissed him once more, tossing the dirty shirt somewhere over the bed and losing himself in the slide of Ronan’s lips. They were gentle now. Hesitant and satisfied.

Ronan pressed his hands against Adam’s jeans, feeling the hardness for himself. Into Adam’s lips he said, “Do you want me to?”

Adam grinned. “Fair is fair.”

Ronan’s hands were on him moments later, effectively erasing the smile from Adam’s face and drawing moans from his lips.

Adam was losing his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be a little lighter. The boys need some fun before I really bring on the heat.  
> Thanks for the wonderful comments! I appreciate them all!


	4. Opening Up My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Very Gangsey Christmas
> 
>  
> 
> This was not edited. If there is a typo, I'm so sorry.

Ronan moved to the Barns in December.

Words could not describe his relief. He belonged there, like a fish belonged in water, like a bird belonged in the sky. Ronan and the Barns were puzzle pieces that snapped into place, tight and natural, molding together two sides of one glorious, magical picture.

He did his best to hide this feeling, this deep satisfaction of being home, from Gansey. Ronan knew it had to hurt him, even if he would never say it out loud. Gansey and Ronan had been a two-headed creature for so long. They were comfortable and acutely knowledgeable of each other’s individual orbits. Gansey knew when Ronan slept (and, more importantly, when he didn’t). Ronan knew how Gansey liked his coffee (it was more like cream with a side of coffee).  They recognized space, grew accustomed to habits, and adjusted to quirks and flaws. Gansey told Ronan to do his laundry, often standing outside of his bedroom until the other boy grew frustrated enough to oblige. Ronan reminded Gansey to eat, something that he’d forget to do on late nights with his head buried in a book.

Gansey had created a home for Ronan: warm, familiar, and inviting. But now he was leaving. And as much as Gansey wanted all of the things he cherished within arm’s reach, he recognized that the Barns was better for Ronan. He had been outside of his natural habitat for too long.

It helped that Ronan never completely moved his things out. In fact, he made it abundantly clear to Gansey (and Henry, who had taken over Noah’s old room) that his room was not to be touched. And some nights, nights when it got too late to drive the thirty minutes back to Singer’s Falls or nights that he wanted to spend closer to Adam or nights that he simply missed his best friend, were spent in his bedroom at Monmouth. And on those nights, and the mornings after, Gansey and Ronan orbited each other as naturally as they had for years. Comfortable, brotherly, home.

Some nights, and for Ronan these were the best nights, Gansey would stay at the Barns. Sometimes Adam would come, if he didn’t have homework or a shift the next morning. Occasionally Blue would make an appearance or even Henry, but most times it was just Ronan and Gansey. When they were there, lying among the hand-knitted blankets, playing on one of the video game consoles, doing donuts in the back fields, it felt like the Lynch house was closer to being full again. It reminded Ronan of family.   

“See that dent?” Ronan had said on a chilly night just days before Christmas. Blue followed his finger and nodded. “That’s from your boyfriend’s head.”

Henry had laughed immediately, white teeth glimmering in the warm lights of the living room. Midterms had just ended and they were gathered at the Barns to celebrate the beginning of winter break and the end of one of the hardest school semesters of their lives.

Adam looked between the dent, which was a deep crater by the base of the stairs, and Gansey. He asked, “How did that happen?”

Ronan answered for him. “He fell down the stairs.”

“You fell down the stairs?” Adam repeated.

Gansey pressed his lips together and gave Ronan an unamused look. “I was pushed.”

They spent Christmas with the Ganseys.

The invitation was impossible to ignore. The Ganseys were unbelievably insistent, offering the group their own cabin at the mountain resort where Gansey-Christmases were usually held. Adam and Blue had agreed to come on the condition that the cabin was their only present, which meant that Ronan and Gansey had to find adequate hiding places for the gifts that Gansey’s parents had bought them anyway.

Though he was reluctant to outwardly admit it, Ronan was thankful for the invitation. Christmas brought back memories of a full house, of the Lynch brothers hanging up stockings, of Aurora decorating the Christmas tree, of Niall surprising them all with exotic, personalized gifts. Christmas reminded Ronan of everything that he had lost.

He could see that Adam was thankful as well. Adam, who got his own stocking hung by the fireplace at the cabin and stared at it for a minute longer than he should have. Adam, who blinked in surprise when Mrs. Gansey asked what his favorite carol was. Adam, who had never decorated a gingerbread house in his life. Christmas reminded Adam of everything he never had.

“Ease up on the icing, Lynch,” Adam said, watching Ronan douse his tree-shaped sugar cookie in green frosting. The main cabin’s kitchen was ridiculously large, yet they had managed to create a mess that covered every inch of it. The Ganseys didn’t seem to notice, though, as Helen and Mrs. Gansey were flying from room to room in order to prepare for the Christmas Eve party taking place the following night.

“Don’t tell me how to decorate my fucking cookie,” Ronan replied, smothering on even more frosting for the sole purpose of being defiant.

 Gansey was staring at his own dessert, conveniently shaped as a sock, with an ever growing frown on his face. “I don’t think a career in cake decorating is in my future.”

Blue snorted. “So much for your well-rounded Aglionby education.”

“It could be worse,” Adam said. He looked at Gansey’s ill-fated cookie with one raised eyebrow and then, with a pointed stare, focused on Ronan’s. “Ronan’s tree has the chickenpox.”      

Ronan’s mouth opened, a snapping retort already on his tongue, but was cut off by Henry, who had been quiet up until then, saying, “I’m done!”

Henry beamed as they each inspected his work. While everyone else had been frivolously working on a single cookie, Henry had managed to successfully decorate half a dozen in the same amount of time. There was a smiling snowman, a blazing north star, two red-nosed reindeer, a stocking that made Gansey’s head shake in frustration, and a well-decorated Christmas tree that Adam did not accuse of having an infection.

Ronan said, “Fuck this” and then proceeded to smash his icing-coated cookie into the side of Gansey’s face.

Blue’s hand flew to her mouth, Henry wrapped a protective arm around his own divinely decorated desserts, Adam sighed. Gansey, recovering from his initial shock, lifted one hand to where the icing and cookie remains were smeared across his handsome cheek.

Gansey turned to Ronan. “You bastard.”

And then no one was safe. Gansey abandoned the cookies completely, instead reaching for a pouch of icing and squeezing the contents onto Ronan’s shaved head. Ronan reciprocated by dousing Gansey in sprinkles. Blue, never one to turn down a good fight, took to throwing dough at Adam, who was using a baking sheet as a makeshift shield. Henry attempted to get his cookies out unharmed, backing away from the kitchen as slowly as possible until Gansey, after a mighty shove from Ronan, barreled into him with enough force to knock them both to the ground. It was a war zone. Threats were made, sprinkles covered every surface, and clouds of flour made the room hazy and dense.

Ronan directed his attention on Adam. Blue was assisting Gansey in destroying Henry’s perfectly styled head of hair with a handful of green frosting and Adam was observing with a smile. A smile that fell rather quickly when he saw Ronan advancing.

“No,” Adam said, shaking his head and pressing himself against the cabinets. There was no where he could go. Groveling was his only defense. “Don’t, Lynch. I’m serious. Ronan, I’m serious, do not tou-“

His words were cut off by Ronan’s hand dragging across the features on his fine-boned face, effectively smearing a rainbow of colors from his forehead to his jaw.

Adam’s lips, now a shocking shade of green, parted. “You’re such an asshole.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Ronan mimicked in a higher-pitched version of Adam’s Henrietta accent.

Adam rolled his eyes, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Ronan was close, all but pressing Adam against the counter, but when he moved to step away Adam’s hand closed around a belt loop, tugging him back. Ronan could feel his heart hammering in his throat when Adam let his thumb brush against his cheekbone, fingers curling around the clean side of his face. By the time that Ronan realized he was merely being held in place, it was too late. Quick as a snake, Adam lunged forward, licking Ronan’s frosting covered cheek.

“Jesus, Parrish! Gross.” Ronan desperately tried to step out of his grip, but Adam’s hand on his pants was firm and unrelenting.

“All is fair,” Adam replied, not finishing the phrase and instead letting his lips brush against Ronan’s.

Ronan stopped struggling immediately. He was aware that the others were only feet away, but by the sound of Blue’s shrieks, Gansey’s laughs, and Henry’s pleas, they were much too distracted to notice Ronan and Adam displaying a rare occurrence of public affection. So Ronan pressed against Adam, letting his tongue slide between the other boy’s lips. He could taste the sweetness in his mouth, and could feel the frosting on his cheek blending with the frosting on Ronan’s.

Ronan was confident that the kissing could have gone on for hours, days even, if they weren’t interrupted by a startled, “Oh!”

Adam pulled back immediately, eyes widening when he noticed Mrs. Gansey standing in the archway of the kitchen. Mrs. Gansey had a master’s degree in remaining calm and collected at all times, but this was one of the rare moments of being unable to hide her shock. She looked between Ronan and Adam, who were putting more and more distance between them, with a startled expression.

Finally, Mrs. Gansey blinked, pulling herself back together and plastering on a polite smile. “That was unbelievably rude, I apologize.”

Adam nodded but didn’t say anything, his ears tinged pink. Ronan folded his arm across his chest.

The others had gone suspiciously quiet. When Ronan looked, he noticed that Mrs. Gansey had captured everyone’s attention. Henry and Blue were staring at Gansey’s mother with wide eyes and alarmed expressions, but Gansey was focusing on Ronan and Adam, doing his best to capture one of their gazes.

Mrs. Gansey said, “Are you two . . . together?”

The room, if possible, went even more silent. No one dared to move or even breath as the words were left to hang in the air. Henry and Blue were looking at Gansey, Gansey was looking at Adam, and Adam was looking at Ronan. This was a defining moment, Ronan realized. He could feel Adam’s gaze on him, could sense the way Adam’s shoulders tensed in the silence, could see Adam’s lips parting, preparing to deny, deny, deny. But Ronan had a racer’s heart and beat him to it.

“Yes.” Ronan said. The word, crisp and direct, left no room for misinterpretation. His stance, arms crossed and shoulders square, left no room for questions. Yes, they were together.

Mrs. Gansey nodded, all shock and surprise abandoned. “Okay,” She said, tone casual and light. “That means you sleep in different rooms. That goes for you two as well.”

The last part was directed at Gansey and Blue who were still entangled on the floor, too alarmed to look embarrassed. Mrs. Gansey was gone as quickly as she appeared, leaving the teenagers open-mouthed and wide-eyed in her wake. The moment of stillness lingered over the kitchen like a dense morning fog. Ronan was aware that he should say something, but out of all of the options Ronan was destined to be the most difficult one, so he kept his arms folded over his chest and his lips pressed firmly together until Henry filled the silence.

“At least my cookies made it,” he said.

It was a weak attempt, but managed to breathe life into the room. Gansey helped Blue from the floor, Henry touched his hair with a frown and a grimace, and Ronan postponed looking at Adam for as long as physically possible. He wasn’t sure what he would see on the other boy’s face. Was this what Adam wanted? They hadn’t talked about it. Adam hadn’t even tried and Ronan, ever doubtful of his place in the lives of the people around him, had assumed it was because there was nothing to talk about. But now Ronan had made a decision. He had made the jump.

Ronan already had an apathetic, uninterested expression prepared, mind and body tightly coiled, anticipating a reaction that would bend his splintering heart. But when his eyes met Adam’s, his features relaxed. Because Adam wasn’t glaring at him, angry for speaking on his behalf without his consent. Adam wasn’t giving him an incredulous stare, amazed that Ronan would believe for a second that they could be together. No, Adam was smiling. The corners of his delicately formed lips twisted upwards, and his eyes managed to match to shape of his mouth, a glowing, joyful blue that had Ronan’s heart thumping perilously to the fast beat of an unknown song. 

Ronan shook his head, rueful and quick, but he could feel himself smile, too. “Don’t, Parrish. Don’t make me regret it.”

Adam just laughed and rolled his eyes, knocking his shoulder against Ronan’s before moving to help Gansey and Blue clean up the mess they’d made.

The ordeal didn’t come to bite Ronan in the ass until the next day and, all things considered, he was surprised it had taken that long.

The Ganseys were known for many things: their indefatigable charm, their strong handshakes, their business prowess, and, according to Helen Gansey, their annual Christmas Eve party. Gansey, of course, had warned them that there would be a party. But this wasn’t just a party, it was an event. Caterers were hired, a twenty-foot tall tree was decorated, ice sculptures were sculpted. It called for pristine black suits with cliché holiday ties, politely worn smiles with repetitive friendly greetings, dull conversations with weak liquor in hand. It was everything that Ronan was not. And he didn’t want to go.

“You can’t skip it,” Adam said to Ronan, who was rebelliously strewn across the couch in the group’s significantly smaller cabin. “Your brothers are even going.”

Getting Declan to agree to join them for the holiday was an impressive feat even for Gansey. When Ronan had initially suggested the trip the answer had been a firm no, and Ronan was prepared to leave it at that. He was prepared to spend his holiday at the Barns with his brothers, fighting with Declan and trying to make things decent for Matthew. But when Gansey asked, in what became a battle of cordial smiles and grand hand gestures, Declan’s firm no molded into a reluctant yes.

So Declan and Matthew were driving down on Christmas Eve and staying at a nearby hotel. Opal was thrilled. Ronan chose not to think about how Opal and Matthew circled each other. Together, they were a force of nature, both effervescent, joyous, and pure (aside from Opal’s raging temper and sharp tongue).  He chose not to think about how they were both dream things, his dream things, and how they probably got along so well because of this fact. He chose not to think about the realness of them, the credibility of beings pulled from the deepest corners of Ronan’s own mind. He chose not to think about what would happen to them if he had been unmade.

“Not my thing, Parrish,” Ronan replied. Gansey and Henry were outside, roped into some party planning activity by Helen. Blue was in the room she shared with Opal, loudly speaking to the women of 300 Fox Way on Gansey’s cell phone. Ronan caught bits and pieces of her heated conversation with Orla. When Blue snapped a threat, one that contained enough familiar hostility that Ronan suspected she meant every word, he fought back a smirk.

“I’m going,” Adam said and Ronan directed his attention back to him.

“I’ve heard.”

Adam raised a fair eyebrow. “And you won’t go with me?”

Ronan blinked at the implication. Adam’s gaze was direct, daring even, and Ronan knew that he was going to cave by the swell of warmth spreading in his stomach, his desire for forward Adam growing with each second he held his gaze. But Ronan was adamant on being difficult so he said, more for show than anything else, “Fuck no.”

But Adam, steadily becoming immune to Ronan’s knee-jerk hostility, only took a step closer. He let his hands fall onto the cushion where Ronan’s head rested, leaning over him so that they were parallel. Adam’s gaze was unflinching. He didn’t even turn when Blue appeared from the other room, her noisy jewelry preluding the sound of her voice.

“If you spit right now,” She said, taking in Adam’s position over Ronan. “It would land right in his eye.”

Adam, without turning, replied, “Tempting.”

It wasn’t until Blue left that Ronan realized just how insistent his desire for Adam was becoming. They hadn’t had time to be alone together, truly alone together, since arriving at the Lodge, and Ronan was itching for the touch of Adam’s skin. Now, with the object of his affections so dangerously close and exhibiting a bold attitude that made his pants uncomfortably tight, desperation was starting to sink in.

“You said we were together,” Adam stated.

Ronan watched his lips move, wanting nothing more than to push up and capture them with his own. Showing an unbelievable amount of restraint, he stayed put and said, “I remember, Parrish.”

“If we are together,” Adam pronounced the word carefully and deliberately. Ronan’s fingers twitched. “We have to do things together. That’s how this works, Lynch.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” Adam leaned even closer, their noses merely inches apart. Ronan’s breath stumbled, caught, crashed, and burned. “It’s nonnegotiable.”

And then he couldn’t hold back any longer. Ronan surged forward, pressing his mouth against Adam’s with little warning and an abundance of force. He could feel Adam’s surprised, but they were trained in spontaneity, and he recovered quickly, pressing Ronan back down into the couch. The kiss was upside down and unpracticed, but it was electrically wired, sending sparks from their connected lips to Ronan’s toes.

“Fine,” Ronan said when Adam pulled back to catch his breath.

Adam smiled. “Good,” he kissed Ronan once more. “Now go get ready.”

Ronan had assumed the party would be terrible. He had assumed he would spend the night dodging Declan, avoiding conversations with red-tied businessman, or rolling his eyes at Gansey’s presidential smile and SAT-approved vocabulary. He had assumed he would be bored out of his mind, an obvious Pitbull in sea of primed and proper show dogs. He had assumed the party would be everything he expected it to be – possibly worse – but it wasn’t.

It was, in fact, not terrible.

It was watching Blue approach a congressman with determined eyes, a fighting smile, and a feminist agenda. It was laughing when Henry suggested a change in music, getting into a spirited but joyful debate with Mrs. Gansey (“ _I’m telling you, Ariana Grande’s Christmas album cannot be topped, Mama Gansey”_ ). It was Ronan and Gansey sneaking cups of spiked eggnog until Gansey was pink in the cheeks, tie-less, and loudly informing a group of his father’s colleagues about economics in ancient Rome. It was Matthew teaching Opal carols while Declan shamelessly flirted with a blonde girl wearing diamond earrings. It was Adam staring at Helen’s legs for a moment too long and Ronan having to pull him into a spare bedroom until he was apologizing and laughing against Ronan’s lips, fingers sneaking under belts and undoing buttons.  

It was natural, comfortable, familiar, home. It reminded Ronan of family.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was kind of a disaster because I hated everything I typed and was unbelievably scared that I was diverting from the original concept and no longer staying true to characters. I hope I'm still on track but I don't know. I want this to be a light, easy fanfic about Ronan/Adam coming to terms with their feelings without creating too much of my own content (because I don't want to contradict Maggie), but I'm panicking!  
> That said, I need help.  
> Is this, in the wise opinion of my readers, the right direction? Like is this staying true to what you hoped this story would be?  
> or  
> Am I losing it? Is this spiraling out of what was expected?  
> Please let me know, I'll reward the comments with some smut I promise.
> 
> If this chapter is shit, I'm really sorry. But I have more planned, and shit is kinda going to go down, and I know Ive been ignoring Opal but she will be included in later chapters so DON'T WORRY.
> 
> Also! Almost at 800 hits! That's wild, thanks everyone!


	5. Is That What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It could be any night, but it wasn't.

 

_What do you want, Adam?  
What do you need, Adam?_

_What are you doing, Adam?_

He wasn’t sure.

It was late but he was still at Boyd’s. The night was cold and the garage door wasn’t secure enough to protect him from the January chill, so Adam buried himself deep into his jacket as he changed the oil on an old Toyota pickup. The wind rattled the building, shaking the tools, vibrating the cars, and whipping Adam’s dusty hair and skin until he became one with his surroundings: cold, grimy, and tasting of metal.

Nights like these confused him the most. Nights when he worked late, when he worked alone, when his body sagged and his mind stumbled. Nights when he was wearing a ratty t-shirt and an old pair of coveralls. Nights when he could never completely clean his hands of oil and gasoline. Nights that could be any night, Adams that could be any Adam.

If he didn’t think about it – if he didn’t focus on the events of the past year – he could believe that none of it happened. He could convince himself that it was all a dream. Gansey was Aglionby’s golden boy, Ronan Lynch was his savagely handsome best friend, Blue was a waitress at Nino’s and Noah was nothing more than an afterthought, a story he had possibly seen on the news at some point. On nights like these he could still live in the trailer, he could still feel the bruises on his body, he could still anticipate the loneliness of his life. Nights like these made him forget what was past and what was present. Nights like these made him question the reality of the present. It could be any night.       

_What are you doing, Adam?_

After checking and then double checking his work, Adam pushed from under the car. He pressed the palm of his hands against his eyes, yearning for a small burst of energy but only managed to spread the grim on his hands to his face. He sighed. He had two more cars to work on, but sleep was catching up to him. Adam thought that, if he listened hard enough, he could hear the sound of his bones creaking, of his joints perilously grinding together, crying for a moment of relief. Exhaustion wasn’t a new feeling, not even close, but it was especially unwelcome that night.

Summoning his last bit of strength, Adam stood and closed Boyd’s down for the night, deciding to make time for the last two cars tomorrow. If he started them tonight he’d end up sleeping on the ground, officially becoming one with the dirt. He had stooped low, but his pride prevented him from stooping _that_ low.

Once in the Hondayota, Adam contemplated his next move. He could go back to St. Agnes. It was closest, after all. His bed did sound appealing and that’s where the majority of his clothes were, clothes that he would definitely need for school. He could also go to Monmouth. There was a good chance that Gansey would be awake. Cabeswater had cured Gansey of Blue’s curse, but did nothing to help his insomnia. In fact, it was almost worse. Gansey had moments – moments he brushed off with reassuring smiles and waves of the hand – where he’d wake up screaming, twitching, fighting, unable to escape from the death that had swallowed him whole only months before. Blue had mentioned that Gansey had experienced these attacks before, but seeing them in person, and relatively frequently, was shocking and left a bad taste in Adam’s mouth.

They bothered Ronan the most. Usually Gansey’s attacks would occur after nights of little to no sleep. Exhaustion yielded to terror. So on days when Gansey was noticeably tired, his mind a few steps behind its normal Olympic pace, Ronan would insist on staying at Monmouth. _Opal will be fine_ , he would say. _It’s not like she won’t find something to eat_.

But Adam had seen Gansey that day and he had been _Gansey_ Gansey - oblivious, golden, joyful, and bright – which meant that Ronan wasn’t bunking in his old bedroom. This brought Adam to his third and final option: driving to the Barns.

It was late. Ronan was probably either asleep or pretending to be. Opal’s bedtime, which was a constant debate at the Barns, was currently ten, which meant she was certainly either asleep or trying to be. The Barns was a thirty minute drive and Adam wasn’t all too confident in his ability to stay awake that long. There was also the problem of his clothes being at St. Agnes, of him having to shower, of the stack of homework sitting on his makeshift desk.

_What do you want, Adam?_

He turned onto the highway.

It had been three months. Three months and he still couldn’t believe it. Three months and if he closed his eyes, focused on the smell of gasoline, and cleared his palpable thoughts of the touches - of the hands on his hips, of the mouth on his neck - he could convince himself that none of it was real. He could convince himself that it was a dream, that it was a fantasy younger Adam had created to make it through the day. Adam Parrish was wanted. He was seen, and appreciated, and known. Thinking about it, truly relishing in it when he was alone on nights like these, still made him feel arrogant and vain.

He couldn’t believe it.

There were so many little things that Ronan did that Adam wasn’t sure he could live without now that he had experienced them. Ronan pressing his shoulder against Adam’s when they sat next to each other. Ronan smirking when Adam said something funny or Ronan-like. Ronan making Adam coffee in the mornings. Ronan convincing Adam to drink tea at night. Ronan washing Adam’s work clothes so that they’d be clean the next day. Ronan kissing Adam just below his deaf ear. Ronan listening to Adam rant about school, Ronan letting Adam talk through his frustrations and stress, Ronan helping Adam work through problems at his own pace.

There were so many little things that Ronan let Adam do, and Adam wasn’t sure he could ever stop doing them. Ronan letting Adam trail his hand over a seated Ronan’s head, unable to keep from touching even if he’s only passing by. Ronan letting Adam use him as a pillow, pressing his head into Ronan’s thighs after long days as hands found their way into Adam’s hair. Ronan letting Adam brush his lips against Ronan’s wrist when he handed him things. Ronan letting Adam adjust the stereo on Ronan’s radio, play with the edges of Ronan’s leather bracelets, walk around with Ronan’s raven perched on his shoulder.

_What do you need, Adam?_

He needed Ronan to remind him that it couldn’t be any night.

The drive to the Barns was curvy and dark, full of twists and turns that sent the contents of Adam’s back seat rocketing from one side to the other. When he reached the end of the driveway, the farmhouse glowing warmly at the finish line, he felt both the release of tension and an onslaught of exhaustion. Adam fumbled with the spare key but on the third attempt he managed to get the front door open. The house was asleep. Small pools of light spilled from the kitchen into the living room so that Opal, in search of a midnight snack, didn’t have to find her way in the dark.

Adam locked the door behind him and made his way upstairs. He stopped at the bathroom first, doing his best to wipe the oil from his hands and wash the gasoline smell from his skin. He didn’t have enough energy to shower. A few months ago, Adam would have cared about things like that. He would have made sure to scrub his skin clean, to mask as much of his roots as possible by means of cheap soap and water. He wouldn’t have dared to crawl into Ronan’s bed smelling more car than human, but he had abandoned that self-conscious thought in late November when he discovered that the smell of gasoline turned Ronan on.

After washing his skin, brushing his teeth, and abandoning his coveralls, Adam pushed open the door to Ronan’s bedroom. He could barely see Ronan among the blankets. He was nothing more than tattoo and pale skin emerging from clouds of soft fabric, dark and intricate among the simple duvet. The blinds were left open, moonlight drenching the bed, and all was quiet. Ronan didn’t stir when Adam slid into bed next to him, wearing a clean black t-shirt he had pulled from one of the drawers and a pair of underwear.

The bed was warm and inviting. It smelled like Ronan, like cotton and wood smoke, like wheatgrass and lemon, like leather and moss. Adam let the covers swallow him, burrowing deep into the bed until the warmth was no longer a suggestion and instead a state of being. Once he was comfortable, he slid closer to Ronan, letting one arm snake around the other boy’s waist and pressing his forehead against the back of Ronan’s neck.

Ronan shifted, one hand tentatively touching the arm encircling his stomach. “Adam?”

Adam shivered at the sound of Ronan’s voice, unperformed and doused in sleep. He answered by pressing his lips to the top of Ronan’s spine.

“Why are you here?” Ronan was too tired to sound as confused as Adam knew he was. It was, after all, one in the morning. Adam had worked a long shift at Boyd’s and had school the next day. His appearance at the Barns was very un-Adam. It was irresponsible, desperate, and wanting. But he had given in to it anyway.

Adam said, “Because I want to be.”

Ronan pressed himself back, curling his body into Adam’s as his hand tightened on his arm. “Needy.”

“Shut up,” Adam responded.

“Bossy.”

They stayed quiet for a moment, Adam’s chest pressed against Ronan’s back, listening to their breathing, basking in each other’s existence. Ronan then turned, twisting in Adam’s arms so that they were nose to nose.

Every muscle in Adam’s body was tight, wound up by hours under cars and over books. His arms ached, pain was shooting up his spine, and his fingers were cramped and sore. But when Ronan looked at him like that, brilliant blue eyes wide and wanting, it didn’t matter. Exhaustion became an afterthought. So Adam closed the little distance between them, pressing his lips gently against Ronan’s until the other boy sighed and gave up on resuming sleep.

“You smell good,” Ronan said before sliding his tongue between Adam’s lips.

And then the storm was upon him and he was embracing every moment of it. He was pushed onto his back, the other boy shielding Adam’s body with his own. Ronan’s mouth worked against his shoulders, teeth nipping at the knots. His mouth grazed over Adam’s chest, sucking and licking until Adam could no longer feel the tension and was focusing on pleasure and only pleasure. He realized that he should sleep. He should close his eyes and prepare for the next day. He had to get up early and stop by St. Agnes before school. He had two extra cars to work on. He had a History exam on Thursday. But Ronan was working at every nerve. He was easing pressure, pushing Adam past sleep and into a state of restful bliss that he had never experienced before.

It was easy and relaxing. Ronan’s mouth was slow, taking its time as he shifted from Adam’s body to his lips. It wasn’t until Ronan’s finger pushed at the band of his underwear that Adam forced his eyes open, hand coming to rest on the top of Ronan’s shaved head.

“You don’t have to,” Adam said, his words jaded and weak.

Ronan pressed his mouth to Adam’s hip. “Relax.”

And Adam did. He let his head fall back into the pillows as Ronan slid his underwear down his legs. He was mentally preparing for Ronan’s hand, for his fingers wrapping around him in slow blissful strokes until Adam released. He was not, however, expecting Ronan’s mouth to continue its downward trial.

“What are you doing?” Adam’s legs tensed as he looked down at Ronan.

Ronan raised an eyebrow, mouth still perilously close to Adam’s cock. “Do you not want me to?”

Adam couldn’t answer. Of course he wanted Ronan to. He had spent enough time thinking about it. Adam wanted Ronan in every way that Ronan could possibly be had. He wanted him all the time, every day, dressed and not, sharp and gentle. But Adam couldn’t tell him that; he couldn’t confess something he did not yet understand. So he looked at him, and Ronan looked back.

But Ronan knew Adam. Ronan was tuned in to Adam’s frequency, catching every gesture, every look, every word, and interpreting it better than Adam could himself.

Ronan said, “Relax.”

And then his mouth was on him. At that point, Adam lost every ounce of strength he had managed to keep in his body. He fell against the bed, one hand still pressed against Ronan’s buzzed head. He wasn’t guiding him, exactly. Adam wasn’t sure how to guide him and, more than that, it didn’t seem like Ronan needed any guidance. Instead he was clutching to Ronan like a lifeline, feeling Ronan’s head move, anchoring himself to Ronan’s warm body as his world was pulled from underneath him.

Ronan’s mouth moved at the same slow, restful pace that it had maintained earlier. He was exploring at first, licking here and there before gently taking Adam’s cock in his mouth and sucking lightly. His tongue curled and tasted, marking its territory. It was a new endeavor, and Adam knew that Ronan was just as unexperienced as he was. He knew there was no one else that either of them had done this with. They were in it together, after all. But Adam had a hard time believing that it could get better than this. He had a hard time believing that Ronan wasn’t bringing him to the peak of physical pleasure. He certainly couldn’t imagine anyone else making him feel quite like he was feeling and, at that moment, he was hoping no one other than Ronan would ever attempt.

Ronan pulled off, leaving Adam trembling and groaning at the loss of heat. His hand quickly replaced his mouth, squeezing and pulling at Adam’s cock as their lips met in a kiss. The kiss was wet and hot, and Adam moaned into Ronan’s mouth with careless abandon, losing himself to Ronan’s touch. Adam came, his entire body lifting off of the bed. It was a miracle that he stayed quiet. It was a miracle that he didn’t wake Opal, or black out, or die from over exposer to pleasure.

He knew he was shaking, his entire body feeling the after-shock of the orgasm. Ronan’s hand was still wrapped around him, fingers delicately circling the over-sensitive skin. Adam was aware of Ronan’s lips pressing soft kisses against his jaw, but they were so careful, so gentle, that he could have been imagining it. He could have been imagining the entire thing. Adam Parrish had never felt anything like this. Adam Parrish had never earned anything like this.

He couldn’t believe it.

“Tell me this is real,” Adam said, the words spilling from his lips before he could hold them back.

Ronan froze, his mouth still pressed against Adam’s cheekbone. He whispered back, “It’s real.”

But it wasn’t enough for Adam. Adam, who believed love to be a privilege. Adam, who earned everything he ever had. Adam, who didn’t realize he could mean so much to another person. This wasn’t a reality that Adam Parrish expected to have. Ronan Lynch had never been a tangible option, but here he was, covering Adam like a blanket and whispering in his ear. It was confusing and beautiful and reckless and heartbreaking and Adam thought that, if he weren’t so tired, he could cry.

“This feels like I might be dreaming,” Adam continued. He let one hand fall onto Ronan’s cheek, dragging a finger across his sharp cheekbone.

Ronan looked at him, eyes dangerously blue and shining under his dark lashes. He said, for the second time, “Maybe I dreamt you.”

And that ended Adam. Every hesitant thought, every second guess, every apprehension tethered to the name Ronan Lynch was abandoned. He couldn’t bring himself to worry about the stability of their situation. Adam didn’t care that he was leaving in a few months. He didn’t care that Ronan was the most difficult option. He didn’t care that they spent most days fighting, that they were broken, that their lives were endlessly complicated. Because Adam would come back, they would fill in each other’s cracks, they would figure everything out together.

Because Ronan dreamed of light. Ronan dreamed up little brothers who he loved unconditionally. Ronan created unimaginable flowers and beautiful cars. Ronan’s mind was overflowing with things he adored, things he desired, things he believed were necessary for his own survival. And he suggested that Adam could be one of those things. Ronan Lynch, a dreamer of impossible objects that he cherished endlessly, suggested that he dreamed Adam.

He couldn’t believe it.

Before Adam could manage a response – choke out some hopeless confession or burst into tears – Ronan was kissing down his body once more. It hadn’t been long, seven minutes at the most, but Ronan took Adam’s cock in his mouth once more. This time he was insistent, urgent, desperately pulling Adam out of his own head.

Adam gasped at the sudden sensation of Ronan’s tongue. He arched off of the bed and groaned, feeling himself harden in Ronan’s persistent mouth. Adam was over-sensitive and spent from a combination of his day at work and the previous orgasm. His body shook, his legs tightened around Ronan, and his hands gripped Ronan’s shoulders in a desperate attempt at control.

Ronan pressed Adam against the bed with one hand and held onto his hips with the other. His tongue was circling and curving under Adam’s cock, head moving with the helpless thrusts. It was sloppy and unpracticed, fueled by passion and endless want. When Adam moaned, Ronan hummed in appreciation. The sound vibrated through Adam and he mused that he was either seconds away from the most intense orgasm of his life or death by blowjob.

Luckily, it was the former.

When Adam came – his vision going white – Ronan stayed, swallowing through Adam’s climax. Adam’s body was useless. He was a mess of limbs, unmoving and thoroughly exhausted. He used the last of his strength to swat at Ronan’s head, pulling him from Adam’s cock by the hinge of his jaw.

“Ronan, Christ, I can’t –“ He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Ronan collapsed on top of Adam for the second time. His breath was ragged and quick in Adam’s ear. Adam waited for feeling to return to his body, for the breath to return to his lungs, for thought to return to his head.

Finally, Adam said, “Do you want me to . . .”

“No.” Ronan kissed Adam’s shoulder and then rotated, shifting so that they were pressed chest to chest, side by side. Their legs tangled together, Ronan’s hand draped across Adam’s back, Adam’s chin was tucked into his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

And Adam did.

It wasn’t any other night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been lazily edited so excuse mistakes, but I'm pleased by how it turned out!  
> I'm fully aware that this chapter could stand alone as a one shot, but I wanted something sweet and touching before I drag Ronan and Adam through some emotional hell.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter! I really appreciated it, and it was those comments that helped me write this one so quickly. 
> 
> Also, A THOUSAND HITS. Incredible.   
> Hope you like it!


	6. Will That Make It Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan's dreams are back.

Ronan took a skull out of his dreams.

He had been napping at the Barns, strewn across the couch in a careless way that seemed to be an open invitation for the nightmares. Letting himself sleep so easily was a mistake. He had become too comfortable, too vulnerable, an easy target for the demons in his head.

The dream thing appeared in Ronan’s hands and he woke with a start. Thankfully, Opal had been in the fields with the cows, and wasn’t present for Ronan’s Hamlet-like study of the skull. He didn’t have to look at it long to realize whose it was.

He buried it.

Ronan’s dreams were back and they were unpredictable. Dream objects appeared at the most random of times, shaking him awake in early mornings at the Barns or catching him mid-nap at Monmouth. They were so unsure that he forfeited sleep in favor of preventing potentially bringing something back that could hurt Opal, or Adam, or Gansey, or Blue. This way of life reminded him of summer, of days spent blinking away exhaustion and nights spent chasing adrenaline and liveliness, occasionally finding it in the roar of the BMW’s engine or the soulless black of a skinny boy’s eyes. His dreams were wild, untamed creatures, sometimes easily controlled and manipulated, other times ferocious and consuming. He no longer craved the adrenaline and had a consistent source for liveliness. But it wasn’t enough.

Ronan’s first nightmare was on the first day of February. Luckily, he had been alone.

He had blindly hoped that the nightmares were a thing of the past, that possibly they had been defeated with the demon. He never allowed himself to think too much about the subject, even when Adam vocalized his concerns, even when the psychics of 300 Fox Way would send him wary glances from across the room. Ronan realized that to think too much about his dreams – or his lack of dreams – would be to realize that they were still existing somewhere within him. And so were the nightmares. He was a dreamer and he couldn’t stop dreaming. He was a nightmare and he couldn’t stop creating more. To believe otherwise would be naïve.

Because of the return of his nightmares, Ronan grew more cautious. He rarely slept at Monmouth, terrified that he may dream of wasps. He wasn’t sure if Gansey’s deadly allergy was still a threat and he didn’t dare take the chance of finding out. He also put distance between himself and Adam.

Ronan didn’t think Adam noticed, for Adam was Adam, endlessly consumed by school and work. Adam seemed oblivious to Ronan’s restless body in bed next to his, eyes closed but noticeably not asleep. He didn’t comment on how Ronan’s visits to St. Agnes were becoming less and less frequent, or how Ronan was quick to excuse himself from staying the night, even if it was late, even if Adam wanted him to. He didn’t question the week where they only saw each other twice, once in passing and the other spent tangled on Adam’s bed. Ronan didn’t think Adam noticed, which was both relieving and heartbreaking.

 

“You look like shit,” Adam said, sliding into the BMW that sat in the corner of Aglionby’s parking lot. The Hondayota had broken down – yet again – and Ronan (who spent the last two days without seeing Adam and decided exhaustion be damned) offered to pick him up from school.

“Thanks, Parrish,” Ronan quipped, smoothing one hand over the steering wheel. “Romance isn’t dead after all.”

Ronan turned, eyes taking in everything from Adam’s windswept hair to the precise tuck of his shirt. Even though Ronan had hated Aglionby with a furious, persistent passion, seeing Adam in his school uniform _did something_ to him. Ronan swallowed and put the car into drive.

“I think the school knows about us,” Adam said. He was smirking, all too aware of the effect he had.

Ronan raised one dark eyebrow, whipping the BMW out of the parking lot with enough speed to startle a group of underclassmen. “You think?”

“I know.”

Ronan didn’t say anything, instead letting the silence ask the question. It was a perfected tactic, one that he usually wielded effortlessly, but Adam, all too familiar with Ronan’s tricks, remained quiet as well, waiting until Ronan tossed a glance his way before answering.

“I told them.” Now Ronan did more than glance. His sharp eyes seared into Adam, narrow with disbelief and confusion. Adam said, “Watch the road.”

Ronan watched the road. “You told them?”

“Technically Tad Carruthers overheard me talking to Gansey,” Adam explained, waving his hands casually as he spoke. “And when he asked about it, I told him. So I assume the entire school knows by now.”

Ronan tried to keep from turning to look at Adam. He knew that the other boy would be nothing more than a puzzle, his face unreadable for one purpose and one purpose only: to frustrate Ronan. And it was working. Curiosity was getting the better of him, and Ronan hated being so easily read and so casually exploited.

“What exactly did you say?” Ronan asked, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice.

“That you are my boyfriend.”

The car swerved and Ronan cursed. He readjusted his hands and shifted in his seat, catching sight of Adam’s broad grin in the passenger seat. Despite the dreams and the caution and uncertainty, Ronan felt a wave of affection pool low in his stomach. His face warmed and he shook his head, fighting back his own smile.

“What?” Adam said, showing all of his teeth. His voice was casual, confident even, but the tips of his ears were pink. Ronan continued to shake his head. “Are we not using that word?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Parrish.”

Adam laughed and the pool of affection in Ronan’s stomach morphed into a sea that flooded his entire body. Adam leaned across the center console, resting his hands on the edge of the seat for balance, and let his pretty lips trail against the edge of Ronan’s cheekbone. He said, “That sounds like a suggestion.”

Ronan laughed, but part of him wanted to pull over and take Adam right then and there, in the middle of the street, in broad daylight. Instead he let Adam fall back into his seat, taking his warmth with him. Adam spent the rest of the drive telling Ronan exactly how the encounter with Tad Carruthers went down, detailing Tad’s astonished, dramatic reaction and then going into even more detail about Gansey’s astonished, dramatic reaction. Ronan laughed along, loving the sound of Adam’s voice and the way his fingers played with the leather bands around Ronan’s wrist.

They got to the Barns and played hide and seek with Opal until it got dark and Adam had to start his homework. When the time came for Ronan to offer driving him home, to bring up Adam’s busy day, or his work schedule, or the inconvenience of him having to get all of his things from St. Agnes the next morning, Ronan stayed quiet. He wanted Adam to stay the night. He wanted Adam in his bed, pressed against his chest, on his knees, and in his arms. Maybe he wouldn’t dream. More than likely, he wouldn’t sleep.

Adam finally shut his textbook and Ronan pulled him from the kitchen table. He attempted to feign reluctance, shaking his head at first and playing coy, but Ronan broke him down. A key aspect of their relationship, Ronan realized, was being acutely attuned to each other’s desires, always knowing when the other was or was not in the mood.

It was extremely rare for them to not be in the mood.

Ronan dragged Adam into the bathroom, turning away from him just long enough to turn the shower on. Ronan didn’t take off his clothes, because he knew how much Adam enjoyed the process of getting Ronan naked. Ronan was shirtless enough that the act alone was rarely more than a mild distraction for Adam. What really got him going, what made his heart thud in his chest and his eyes to shine black with desire, was being the one to pull the shirt off. Adam liked being the reason behind it, the moving force, the one responsible for miles of bare skin stretched over taunt muscle.

They had never done anything in the shower before, which meant the first time was sloppy and chaotic. Ronan slipped and cursed, grabbing onto the tile walls to keep from tumbling. Adam got soap in Ronan’s eyes, Ronan gathered water in his hands and threw it at Adam. They laughed and gripped onto each other, aware that too much passion would result in a graceless fall to the shower floor. When Adam dropped to his knees and took Ronan in his mouth, Ronan moaned loud enough to be grateful for the white noise of the spray of water.

They were getting good at blowjobs. Adam, being the extremely goal-oriented and surprisingly competitive boy that he was, didn’t hesitate to go down on Ronan after the first time. The day after Ronan had taken Adam in his mouth, Adam approached him at Monmouth with a determined expression and a wicked glint in his eye.

“Fucking hell,” Ronan had said when it was over, collapsed against the wall. Bricks had been digging into his back and Gansey could have walked in at any moment, but he didn’t care. He was pretty sure Adam had permanently damaged his brain. His thoughts were nothing but fuzzy memories of Adam’s eyes and his mouth and his hands.

Adam climbed from his knees wearing a knowing smile and kissed Ronan, short and sweet, with swollen lips. “I think I blacked out when you did it to me.”

Now, on his knees on the shower floor, Adam was even more confident in his abilities. He had Ronan coming in minutes, the insistent press of his tongue working moans out of Ronan’s sharp mouth. It was so good it had become almost spiritual to Ronan, a religion that he devoted himself to wholeheartedly. He had always been a shitty Catholic, but he was a damn good worshipper of Adam.

Ronan didn’t dream that night, but he knew that it was more likely due to exhaustion than the lack of possible nightmares. Still, he relished the peace and the feel of Adam’s body pressed against his. He was brilliantly pleased when morning came and his hands were empty, his mind well rested. Adam was tucked into the pillow and Ronan could hear the faint sound of his breathing. It was almost enough to convince Ronan it was possible to be this and only this. It was almost enough for him to let his guard down once more, to exist peacefully and casually, unafraid of the night and his head and the world that existed in the hollows of his soul. It was almost enough to convince Ronan that they were alright. That it could stay like this forever.

February turned into March. Ronan rarely slept, but when he did he wished he didn’t.

On the third day of the third month, Ronan had a dream about his dying mother and woke up with her blood on his hands. On the tenth day, Ronan had a dream about Noah and woke up with a skateboard pressed against his ice cold skin. On the fifteenth day, Ronan had a dream about possessed Adam. That time he woke up with scratches on his skin and bruises around his neck.

“What the hell is that?” Adam immediately asked upon seeing the marks.

They were outside of Nino’s, the dark BMW parked next to the brilliantly orange Camaro. Gansey, Henry, and Adam had been waiting on Ronan’s arrival while Blue finished up her shift inside. He could feel their eyes trail to his neck, could feel Gansey’s frown and Adam’s sharp intake of breath.

Ronan had cancelled on plans made the past two nights, telling the others that Opal was being a pain and he couldn’t afford to leave her alone or she’d destroy the place. But Opal was always a pain and always destroyed the place. In reality, he was hoping that the extra days would give the bruises enough time to lighten.

“It’s nothing,” Ronan said, slamming the door hard enough that the BMW shook.

Adam blinked, his face morphing into something that looked more like anger than concern. “That’s bullshit. What is it?”

Ronan looked at him, gaze holding steady. Behind them, Gansey and Henry were shifting uncomfortably. Henry looked ready to bolt inside while Gansey seemed to be debating whether or not he should intervene. Ronan could see the tension in Gansey’s back, the square set of his shoulders, the firmness of his jaw. He wore worry differently than other people. If you didn’t know him, you’d mistake it for something else. Luckily, Ronan was fluent in Gansey.

“Were you fighting?” Adam continued, eyes lit by the neon glow of Nino’s. “Was it Declan?”

Ronan considered saying yes. He considered lying, just this once, because he knew the truth would bother Adam more than any fight ever could. But Ronan wasn’t a liar, and he especially didn’t lie to him.

“It’s nothing.” He repeated.

Ronan turned in the direction of the restaurant but Adam’s hand, firm against his bicep, stopped him.

“Ronan –“

“Adam.”

Adam froze. Ronan wasn’t sure what Adam saw in Ronan’s eyes just then. He certainly didn’t mean to release any emotion, to tell him without telling him what the marks were and why he quickly pulled away from Adam’s touch. He didn’t mean to give it away, but understanding dawned on Adam’s face.

For a moment it looked as if he’d been hit.

Ronan wanted to throw up.

“Okay,” Adam said, withdrawing. He nodded his head once, twice, three times, and then disappeared into Nino’s without another word. Henry exchanged a meaningful glance with Gansey before following.

The parking lot was surreal at night. Florescent lights surrounded by impenetrable night. The orange of the Camaro reflected onto Gansey’s skin, making him look golden and kingly. Ronan looked like darkness. He was starting to hate the darkness.

 “What is that from?” Gansey nodded his head at Ronan’s throat. Ronan felt a flicker of irritation, though he knew it wasn’t directed at his best friend. He suddenly wanted to set something on fire just to see it burn. Just to see something other than himself be destroyed.

“Don’t ask me questions you know the answer to,” Ronan snarled.

Gansey nodded, not taking the bait. He wasn’t like Adam in that sense. While Adam would take Ronan’s fire and match it with ice, Gansey preferred to extinguish by not acknowledging it at all. He studied Ronan’s neck, the finger marks that were impossible not to notice, and then let his gaze drop to the scratches on his forearms.

“How long have you been dreaming again?” Gansey asked.

“A month.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Ronan didn’t answer and Gansey sighed. It was such a familiar exchange, bred out of years of interaction and an immeasurable amount of trust. Ronan didn’t tell Gansey because he _knew_ Gansey. He knew what Gansey would do to stop Ronan’s pain, to soften his heart, to steady his head. He knew Gansey would search for King after King, magician after magician, to find a cure or a solution. He knew what Gansey was willing to sacrifice.

And Ronan was not willing to sacrifice Gansey.

“It isn’t a big deal,” Ronan said, shrugging his leather covered shoulders.

Gansey raised an eyebrow. “Tell that to Adam.”

“If it gets bad,” Ronan started, studying his boots. “You’ll know. I promise.”

It was all the reassurance Gansey needed. Their friendship didn’t require excess pleading or explanations. They didn’t need constant reassurance, because Gansey knew that Ronan kept his promises, and Ronan knew that Gansey would always believe him. Gansey would never leave Ronan. Ronan would follow Gansey anywhere. It was terrifying to trust someone that much, to owe so much of yourself to one person, and the idea of Gansey leaving for his gap year was suddenly unbearable.

Gansey, sensing the sudden shift, clapped a hand onto Ronan’s shoulder. His face broke into a wide, golden smile. “I’m absolutely famished, let’s go in. Also, Blue might have some makeup that will cover those marks up.”

Ronan rolled his eyes and gave Gansey a brotherly shove. “Fuck you, man. I’m not asking your girlfriend for makeup. Our skin tones don’t even match.”

Gansey looked at Ronan for a long moment, undoubtedly mentally comparing his skin tone to that of Blue Sargent’s. He shrugged. “That reminds me, you’ve heard about Adam calling you his boyfriend in history class? It was cute. The Adam Parrish equivalent of posting on Instagram.”

“Tad Carruthers can suck my dick,” Ronan stated. He opened the door to Nino’s, a gust of warm air hitting him square in the face.

Gansey raised an eyebrow, still smiling in a way that made the hostess look twice. Ronan glared at her. “So it’s _official_ official. Did you two do anything for Valentine’s Day? I never asked.”

“Yeah, I sucked his dick.”

“Jesus,” Gansey said. “Christ.”

Blue grinned when they reached the table. Ronan slid into the both next to Adam and immediately weaved their fingers together. He could have kept being cautious, could have withdrawn completely then and there, but Adam needed to know that it was okay. That Adam Parrish could never be the one to ruin Ronan Lynch.

 He could hear his heart hammering in his chest, could sense the tension in the other boy’s fingers, could feel the despair as if it was his own. And maybe it was. Adam pulled away at first, eyes still wary and unsure, but Ronan held on tighter. Gansey was distracted with Blue, who was violently waving her pencil in his face, undoubtedly ranting about something that had happened earlier in the night. Henry was editing a picture on his phone, trying to get the “aesthetic” just right before posting it. No one was paying attention to them, so Ronan ducked his head and kissed Adam’s cheek.

“Stay with me tonight?” Ronan said, lips inches from Adam’s good ear.

“Ronan.”

Ronan kissed him again, this time on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t make me say please.”

“Ronan.”

He bit Adam’s neck, playfully pulling at the delicate skin. “Fine, please?”

Adam shivered and released a breathless laugh. “Maybe.”

Ronan felt his mouth quirk. He pulled his head back so that he could get a good look at his boyfriend who, thankfully, looked nothing like the ashamed boy that had walked away from him in the parking lot. “Maybe?”

“I heard what you said to Gansey. About Valentine’s Day. You’re officially on restriction.”

Ronan threw his head back and laughed while Adam glared, eyes performing a daring dance. “You can’t put me in time out, Parrish.”

“Watch me.” Adam smirked and pressed himself even closer to Ronan. There was a chance people were paying attention now, but Ronan didn’t care when Adam kissed him, light and teasing. He bit Ronan’s bottom lip just enough to emit a gasp, and then let his hand trail under the table and across the front of Ronan’s jeans. He barely pulled back from Ronan’s lips when he said, “By the way, the Aglionby student body wants proof that we’re dating so the next time you ‘suck my dick’ I’m going to have to film it.”

Ronan grinned against Adam’s lips. “You wanna keep being funny or do you want to get some tonight?”

Adam kept being funny and still got some that night.

This time, Ronan did dream. He dreamed of light, of flowers and Cabeswater and magic. He dreamt of summer days at the Barn, of autumn afternoons in Monmouth, of winter nights in St. Agnes. He dreamed about driving his car down a long, mountain road, speeding up but rarely slowing down, fearless and full of life. When he woke up, he was clutching the steering wheel of the BMW.

It wasn’t a nightmare, not even close, but Adam was sleeping next to him. He wanted to show Adam the dream thing, wanted to celebrate a successful night dreaming with no monstrous interruptions, but he couldn’t. All Ronan could do was think about how Adam was there. In his bed. And he had dreamt. It wasn’t like last summer, when the only person he was putting at risk was himself.

Adam was there, _in his bed_ , and he was _dreaming_.

Ronan buried the steering wheel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how obvious it is, but the relationship between Gansey and Ronan is undoubtedly my favorite.   
> That doesn't mean that I'm not Pynch trash, because I am and would take a bullet for those two, but I think the Raven Cycle is a story about friendship and Ronan and Gansey, to me, are the epitome of friendship. Its why the Dream Thieves is my favorite book in the series, because it highlights the bond that they have formed. Ronan and Gansey are such complex characters and, in a way, their friendship doesn't make sense. It isn't without work or sacrifice or frustration, but it is also amazingly simple. They love and care for each other so much, and I think a lot of readers don't focus on it as much. I couldn't imagine them not being in each other's lives. I don't know who Ronan would be without Gansey, or who Gansey would be without Ronan. And that is beautiful. They don't make each other their sole source of happiness, they just love unconditionally and irrevocably. Gansey asking for Ronan's life when confronting the Gray man, late nights bonding over insomnia, Ronan crying and furious by Gansey's dead body. Pride was never a problem for them. Loyalty was never a problem. Ronan never wished Gansey to be someone other than who he was, and Gansey loved Ronan despite every thorn, every sharp edge that made others run for the hills. Honestly, I could write an entire essay about them but I'll just stop now.  
> Needless to say I intentionally make my writing a little Gansey/Ronan centric. And I am not stopping.
> 
> You all will probably care more about this: This fic will soon be coming to an end! I only plan on writing two or three more chapters after this one, but don't worry I'll do my best to make them good (I still have to break them down and then throw them back together, so we have an interesting road ahead).   
> That said, I'll have some free time! I'm probably going to write some quick (dirty) one shots that I've had in my brain for months, but I also wouldn't mind starting a bigger project. For some reason I want to write a band AU? About the Gangsey? I know there are TONS of those, but I have an urge. Feel free to tell me if that is a shit idea.  
> Also, I would be happy to take prompts! I think they are super fun, so if anyone wants to submit something, just slide on into the comments section.
> 
> Keep commenting please, I love reading them!  
> And holey moley, 1400 hits! Is this what J.K. Rowling feels like? It must be.  
> Thanks too everyone reading my work and my obnoxious end note!  
> (Um. I had a few glasses of wine when I wrote this . . . so if there are mistakes please blame the $4 Merlot)


	7. Broken and Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.

There was blood on the bed.

It was early April and Adam hadn’t stayed at the Barns in weeks.

He had been feeling Ronan pull away. There were no more late nights at St. Agnes, no more casual visits to Adam’s work, no more long drives down dark Virginia roads. Time spent together was becoming a rarity, a gift bestowed upon Adam that he was always craving, a blessing in the form of pale skin and thin lips. He didn’t have the courage to ask for more or to question the sudden retreat. But he could feel it. He could feel his affections for Ronan, a deep and dense ocean of uncharted emotions, and, more importantly, he could feel Ronan’s withdrawal. The tide was dragging Adam into the sea alone. 

He had thought that, possibly, the secrecy was to blame. Ronan, loud and vicious, uncaring of the opinions of others, was growing tired of being kept quiet. Adam wasn’t sure if this was the exact reason, but he figured that if it was, it was an easy enough fix. So he told Aglionby. He told the moronic Tad and even went as far as kissing Ronan’s cheek in front of Matthew after Sunday mass. But this almost made things worse. Ronan continued to pull away. He sat in the passenger seat of the Pig. He didn’t answer Adam’s calls. He kept his hands to himself, kept his tired eyes on anything that wasn’t Adam.

Adam wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

_Where are you going?_

_What are you doing?_

_What’s happening to us?_

And then, on a Saturday night after dinner with Gansey and Blue, Ronan asked Adam if he had work the next day. He didn’t. So Ronan didn’t take Adam home, he took him to the Barns. They ended up in Ronan’s sheets, surrounded by cotton and moonlight, enjoying the act of taking each other apart, of breaking everything down. They worshipped, confessing physically what they couldn’t manage to confess verbally. And though it took Adam by surprise, though it was unplanned and sudden, he never expected this.

There was blood on the bed.

“Ronan?”

He didn’t respond, but Adam could feel the bed shaking. He could hear quiet gasps. Could feel something thick and wet and sticky dampen the covers. There was a shift in the bed, Ronan’s side dipping low enough that Adam realized it couldn’t be only his weight causing it. The room was freezing.

Adam reached for the light.

“Ronan, what’s going –“

And then he saw it.

It took him a moment to register exactly what he saw. The image had to process. Adam blinked once. He blinked twice. He felt his lungs collapse. He felt his heartbeat stop. He felt his brain flicker into nothing. For a moment he was dead, too. For a moment it was him in Ronan’s arms, expressionless, bleeding, and cold. But when he blinked the third time the image fell back into place and it was Gansey’s body once more.

Ronan was shaking violently and relentlessly, holding onto the body with an iron grip. Their chests were pressed together, one bare and unbelievably alive, the other clothed with an Aglionby sweater and drenched in blood. Gansey’s head rested on Ronan’s shoulder, hazel eyes unblinking. It was as if Ronan was trying to hug the other boy back to life. As if Ronan was attempting to mold them into one, to take Gansey’s pain and make it his own, to take Ronan’s life and make it Gansey’s. Gansey’s unmoving hand was extended toward Adam. Cold, white skin on cold, white sheets.

Adam shut his eyes.

_It’s a dream. It’s a dream. It’s a dream._

But then he opened his eyes and it was a nightmare.

“Ronan,” Adam said, his voice hollow. “Ronan. Let him go.”

When Adam’s hand pressed against Ronan’s shoulder, he flinched. He held onto Gansey even tighter, body coiling possessively. Adam couldn’t see his face and for the moment he was glad. The picture in front of him was terrible enough already.

The door opened. Adam saw Opal peeking in, could hear her small gasp. It was her face – terrified and vulnerable – that pushed him into action. He threw back the covers and met her by the door, shielding her from nightmare behind him with his body. He kneeled so that they were eye level.

“Opal, I need you to go outside,” Adam said. He tried his best to sound calm, but it wasn’t convincing enough. “Go outside and catch some fireflies.”

“Kerah?” She responded.

“He’s okay. He’s just – Opal, go outside.”

Maybe it was his tone, maybe it was the way he pressed his hand against her cheek, light and encouraging, or maybe it was the soft sound of Ronan’s gasps coming from over Adam’s shoulder. Whatever it was, it convinced Opal that she should obey this time, and soon he heard the front door open and her hooved feet disappear into the night.

He turned back to Ronan.

The blood was beginning to dry.

Adam moved back to the bed, kneeling on the mattress so that he was close but not too close. He touched Ronan’s arm and felt his muscles tense. He touched Gansey’s body and went cold all over.

Adam said, “Look at me. Ronan. I need you to look at me.”

Adam let his touch on Ronan’s arm become firmer, more insistent. Finally _, finally_ , Ronan raised his head from Gansey’s shoulder. And it was misery.

Black eyes and tear stains. Hollowed cheeks and a bloody lip. His grief was brutally handsome, terribly fragile, and startlingly peaceful. This grief didn’t belong on Ronan Lynch’s face.

“Adam.”

It was every fear and every heartbreak formed into one broken word. Adam fought back tears. He steadied his breathing and told himself that he couldn’t fall apart. He couldn’t let the nightmare swallow him, too.

“It isn’t him,” Adam said. Ronan’s head shook with his words and his grip didn’t loosen, but Adam kept talking. “You were dreaming. It is just a dream. This isn’t him. This is not _real_.”

Ronan’s head shook again, this time more violently. This time with tears escaping from the corners of his blue eyes. “It is him.”

Misery.

Adam wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know what reassurance he could possibly give because, in a way, Adam was wrong.

Adam knew Ronan had been dreaming again, but he didn’t know about the nightmares. Not until seeing him at Nino’s with bruises around his neck. Bruises that Adam, only a few months before, had been responsible for. Nightmares were self-hatred. Nightmares were fear. Adam was under the impression that Ronan had learned to harness them, had learned to render the most destructive and volatile weapons of his mind useless. But here a nightmare was, dead in Ronan’s bed. What had triggered their return? The demon? The demon inside Adam? The death of Ronan’s mother? The death of Gansey?

Ronan had to create this. He manifested the dying body of his best friend. And it _was_ Gansey. It was Gansey in every way that mattered. It wasn’t just a copy to Ronan. Ronan had spent his entire life around dreams. He grew up being loved by Aurora and loving Matthew.  He grew up not knowing the difference between being born and being created. They were human in the same way that Adam was human, that Blue was human. And Ronan loved them desperately. They were real in every way that mattered.

In his mind, Ronan had killed.

Ronan had killed Gansey.

Adam wasn’t sure what to say, so he reached to the nightstand and retrieved Ronan’s phone, calling the one person who would have the right words.

Gansey, _their_ Gansey, answered on the third ring.

“Ronan?” His voice signified that he had – miraculously – been sleeping.

“No,” Adam said, still watching Ronan’s trembling arms. Still amazed that he could be talking _to_ Gansey while also staring at his dead body. “No, it’s Adam.”

Gansey was immediately awake. “Adam? What’s wrong? Did something happen? I can be there in –“

“Gansey, he’s fine,” Adam interjected. It was a lie. He wasn’t fine. But he couldn’t have Gansey racing here in the night. He couldn’t have Gansey seeing this. “We’re fine. He . . . he had a nightmare.”

Gansey fell quiet. Adam could picture him sitting in his bed at Monmouth, glasses askew, rubbing one finger against his bottom lip in contemplation. His heart ached with fondness. His heart broke with grief. “What kind of nightmare?”

The worst kind of nightmare. The kind of nightmare that could end Ronan. The kind of nightmare that threatened to unravel him once more. The kind of nightmare that turned his magic, his beautiful, light magic, into terror.

Adam said, “He won’t let go of the body.”

Another silence and then, softly, “Hand him the phone.”

It took some convincing. Adam had to uncurl Ronan’s fingers from dead Gansey’s body. He had to stare into Ronan’s eyes, grip his chin, and assure him that _Gansey is alive. Gansey is alive and he’s on the phone and you need to talk to him_. And then Ronan took the phone and Gansey talked to him.

Adam couldn’t hear what was said, but he watched Ronan’s eyes squeeze shut. He watched him nod along to Gansey’s words. He watched how his grip on the body loosened, how his shoulders lost their tension, how he slowly became _Ronan_ once more.

After several long minutes Ronan said, “I didn’t think I had to feel like this anymore.”

Misery. This time, it was Adam’s.

Whatever Gansey said next made Ronan’s eyes lift, now dry and alarmingly blue, to Adam. They stared at each other for a long moment, Adam’s heart not daring to beat, before Ronan nodded and said, “Okay.”

He looked away and handed the phone back to Adam.

“Adam?”

“I’m here.” Adam said into the phone.

“Thank for calling.”

And then Adam desperately wished Gansey was there. He wished he could bump their knuckles together, charming and brotherly. He wished he could talk this through, knowing that Gansey would listen and understand to the best of his abilities. He wished he could see his best friend alive and brilliant and loyal and loving. He wished he had never seen his body, not in October, and not now.

That was the worst part.

This nightmare was once real. This nightmare was their destiny.

After a few more words, a promise to call if anything else happened, and a solemn goodnight, Adam hung up the phone. Ronan was no longer trembling, but he was still unable to look at Adam.

“We should bury it,” Adam said.

Ronan nodded. And then they buried it.

Ronan dug the hole. Adam threw away the sheets. Ronan found a tarp to wrap it in. Adam scrubbed the room clean of blood. They carried the body into a field and buried it under an oak tree. On the way back to the house, they came across Opal holding a jar full of lightening bugs. Ronan convinced her to go back to bed. She, remarkably, obeyed.

The sky was touched by light, dawn creeping toward them. Adam moved to the house, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and pretend this never happened, but Ronan stayed in the yard.

He had his hands thrusted into the pocket of his jeans. The white t-shirt he had thrown on was stained with blood. He still wasn’t looking at Adam when he said, “We need to talk.”

Adam backed away from the door, his hand falling from the handle. He turned on the porch, tired and overwhelmed with the events of the night. But if Ronan wanted to talk about it, Adam wouldn’t stop him. It was rare that Ronan chose a verbal approach, usually preferring to smash and break things.

Adam nodded. “Okay.”

Now, with his eyes on the light of the horizon and mouth in an unreadable line, Ronan didn’t look like someone who would lash out. He looked calm. He looked determined. He looked at ease.

“This isn’t working,” Ronan said.

Adam wasn’t sure exactly what _this_ was. Possibly some method Ronan used to reign in his night terrors, possibly some trick Kavinsky taught him about dreaming objects into existence, possibly some calming technique Gansey had read up on or some terrible tea Maura had given him. Adam never gave much thought to how Ronan was attempting to keep from dreaming all of these months, from October until now, but it was very apparent that it wasn’t working.

“You’ll learn how to control your dreams again,” Adam assured him. “We don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

He was hoping that that would be it, that Ronan would come inside and let Adam trace the lines of his tattoo, coaxing him to sleep as he had done only hours before. But Ronan didn’t move.

“I’m not talking about my dreaming. I’m talking about this,” Ronan waved a hand between him and Adam. “It isn’t working.”

Now Adam was truly confused. His eyebrows drew together, his analytical mind trying to comprehend what Ronan was saying.

Adam repeated Ronan’s gesture with a raised eyebrow. “This?”

Ronan looked at him, eyes sharp but otherwise expressionless. “This,” he said. His voice was firm and direct, no hint of the broken boy he was an hour ago. “You and me. We aren’t working.”

Realization dawned, hitting Adam like ice water, sinking into his bones and drowning him from the inside out.

He blinked. “What?”

_He wasn’t . . ._

_He couldn’t be . . ._

“We had to call it at some point, right?” Ronan continued. He sounded almost bored, as if he were reciting notes he made in history class. “Let’s not drag it out, Parrish.”

Adam couldn’t speak. He couldn’t _breathe_.

Ronan may have still been talking, but Adam wasn’t sure. Ronan could have been speaking in Latin, but Adam wasn’t sure. He could only watch Ronan’s mouth move. He could only stare as Ronan’s eyes flickered to Adam and then away again, looking at him as if he were nothing. Looking at him as if he were Adam Parrish, Gansey’s scholarship friend that Ronan put up with for Gansey’s sake and Gansey’s sake alone. Looking at him as if the past year had never happened. As if the past few months had never happened.

It was several moments before Adam found his voice.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Ronan didn’t say anything and, by doing so, answered Adam’s question.

Adam shook his head. “No. No, you aren’t breaking up with me.” Still silence. “Ronan. You aren’t breaking up with me.”

Ronan took a breath. It was the kind of breath Adam recognized, the kind of inhale the preluded something painful, something that would hurt. It had been a long time since Adam had to brace for impact. Ronan said, “We knew it was going to end. So let’s just . . . let’s just end it now. Before it gets worse.”

And then, because he couldn’t help it, Adam laughed. He raised his hand to his forehead, pressing just hard enough to feel pain, and barked an ironic _ha_. It was impossible, and yet it was happening. “You’re seriously doing this. You’re _seriously doing this_.”

Ronan even had the nerve to meet his eyes. “I’m doing this, Adam.”

Adam began to move. Pacing on the porch as if it would solve anything, as if it would take back the words that calmly and steadily left Ronan’s mouth. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging and tugging until he could think straight. But no matter how hard he worked, no matter how his brain churned, he couldn’t seem to understand it.

“Is this because of the nightmare?” Adam asked, turning on Ronan. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“It’s one of the reasons,” Ronan admitted with a careless shrug. “Tonight should have never happened. None of it. You shouldn’t have been here.”

“And what are the others?” Adam was always searching for reason, always desperate for explanations and evidence. This was no exception.

Ronan looked away, considering his next words. Adam watched his eyes train on the dirt, his arms move to fold across his chest, his throat swallow in preparation. “You’re leaving, Adam.”

Adam blinked. “I’m coming back.”

“No one asked you to.”

Adam said, very carefully, “No one had to.”

It was no secret that Adam wanted to leave Henrietta. It was no secret how he yearned to break free of the person he became here. The person who wasn’t used to being touched, who had lived the majority of his life starved of physical affection. The person who was cautious and careful, always weighing options and discovering the safest route. The person who worked long days and long nights, struggling to make ends meet. The person who didn’t know how to love properly. The person who didn’t think he was capable of loving properly.

Until Ronan, Adam was sure that this person would eternally exist in Henrietta. Until Ronan, Adam was sure that the solution would simply be getting out. Until Ronan, Adam had no desire to return.

“This isn’t what you want,” Ronan continued. “It isn’t some big fucking secret. You’re going to college. You’re getting a fancy degree. You’re moving on and I’m staying here.” Ronan gestured in the direction of the field, arm taunt and fingers clinched, the only sign of tension. “ _That_ was only proof. You didn’t sign up for this. You don’t want this.”

“Fuck you.” Adam felt the anger, the injustice of it all, explode before he could stop it. He didn’t realize he was yelling until Ronan’s eyes widened, just a fraction. Until Adam’s hands were balled by his side. “I knew exactly what I was agreeing to. I knew exactly what this was and what you were and I did sign up for it. So fuck that. It’s bullshit.”

His words were met with more silence.

“What? You think this was just some kind of . . . _experiment_ for me?” The word left a bad taste in Adam’s mouth. He spit it out. He was angry, disgusted, and drowning in disbelief. Bleeding from the inside out. “You aren’t a test, Ronan. This isn’t a game to me and fuck you for thinking otherwise.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ronan shook his head. Dismissive and aloof. “It’s over, Adam. We can’t . . . I’m not doing this anymore.”

It was his tone that did it. It was the calm way he said it, the stability of his words, the lack of doubt in his voice. That’s what broke Adam. That’s what signaled that it was real. That he couldn’t fight his way out of it, because Ronan wasn’t angry. Ronan wasn’t trying to fight, he wasn’t trying to scream where someone would hear him. He wasn’t trying to smash and break things. He wasn’t looking for reassurance or release. He wasn’t trying to hurt Adam. He was ending it. And it was simple.

Adam felt the fight drain from his body. He rested against the pillars of the porch, realizing with an ironic twist of the gut that this is where he kissed Ronan all those months ago. He hadn’t seen this coming but, then again, maybe he had. Maybe he had ignored it.

The silence was unbearable. Ronan was motionless in the yard. Adam was motionless on the porch. It was getting lighter and Adam realized that, in less than an hour, it would be day.

He said, “What am I supposed to do now?”

Does he leave? Ronan drove him here, but surely he couldn’t _stay_. Does he call Gansey? If he did, Gansey would try to solve the problem. He would talk to Ronan and attempt to set Adam at ease. Adam would get his hopes up. Adam would expect Gansey to fix it. Gansey always fixed it. But then Gansey would realize, as Adam did, that Ronan was serious. That Ronan was ending it. And Adam would have to be told, once more, that he was no longer wanted.

He couldn’t call Gansey.

“You can take my car,” Ronan said, looking at Adam in the dim light of dawn. “I’ll get it back.”

Adam nodded, but driving the BMW sounded about as appealing as being run over by the BMW.

Before long, he had the entire process sorted in his head. He had his breakup from Ronan – from the drive home to the eventual stage of moving on – planned out. He would drive the BMW to his shitty apartment above St. Agnes. He’d sit on the floor with his head in his hands and process. He’d tell Gansey, and then Blue. Henry would find out. He’d finish up the school year and spend the majority of the summer working, being around Ronan only when it was necessary, only when it wasn’t painful. In August, he’d go to college.

He wouldn’t come back. What’s the point? Gansey would travel to see him. Blue would call. Eventually he’d meet someone else – someone who didn’t know about Glendower, someone who didn’t dream cars and brothers and dead bodies into existence, someone who was normal and liked Adam. Someone who wanted Adam. He’d graduate and get a job, maybe even get married, and by that point this would be just a memory. Ronan would be nothing more than a memory.

And maybe, Adam thought, that’s all he’d be to Ronan, too. Eventually, Adam Parrish would be nothing more than a first. Ronan would find someone else. There’d be someone else tucking Opal in at night, someone else for Ronan to make coffee for in the morning, someone else’s lips he’d be kissing. And maybe once in a while, when Ronan lost control of a shopping cart or passed by Aglionby or taught someone to drive stick or looked a moment too long at the little blue car that used to sit in his bedroom, he’d think of Adam. And maybe that would be enough.

It hurt so bad Adam could barely stand it.

Bleeding. From the inside out.

And yet, it wasn’t working.

He tried. He tried his best. But Adam couldn’t imagine ever regretting this. He couldn’t imagine not kissing Ronan and risking it being their last. He couldn’t imagine letting this - everything that they had become – amount to nothing more than a memory. He couldn’t imagine moving on, falling in love with someone who didn’t _know_ him, who didn’t know this place, or this power. He couldn’t imagine hands on him that weren’t Ronan’s, lips on his that weren’t already familiar. He couldn’t imagine Ronan moving on. He tried. He tried his best.

But he couldn’t imagine Ronan not wanting Adam.

The misery of the night had left him blind.

Adam pushed himself from the pillar and was down the steps in an instant, moving to Ronan with enough speed that the other boy’s eyes widened in alarm. He stopped only when they were inches apart, only when he was close enough hear the catch in Ronan’s breath and the stumbled beat of his heart.

Adam said, “No.”

Ronan’s lips parted.

Adam repeated, “No.”

Finally, _finally_ , Ronan looked angry. And it was beautiful, amazing even, because it meant that he was _feeling_ something. “That isn’t how this works, Parrish.”

“Like you’d know,” Adam spat back, matching Ronan’s fire with ice. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

Ronan’s lip turned upward, half of a snarl forming on his handsome face. He was ready for war, poisonous smile and acid gaze ready to demolish and burn. “Fuck off.”

But Adam couldn’t feel the heat of the words. The pain, the unbelievable pain, was background noise, because they weren’t giving up. He wasn’t giving up. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll go.”

“Haven’t you heard enough?” Ronan demanded. His eyes were nothing but fury. It was his only way of letting himself feel this, it was his only way of not falling apart. “Just fucking leave, Adam. Go.”

“Not unless you say it.”

But Ronan didn’t lie.

Ronan didn’t lie and he wouldn’t lie now. He couldn’t tell Adam that he didn’t want him and, even if he did, Adam wouldn’t believe it. These past few months have shown him enough. Every kiss, every touch, every word whispered and curse thrown only heightened what Adam had known since Ronan’s birthday: They were all in. It was all or nothing, and nothing wasn’t an option anymore.

“Then I’m not leaving,” Adam said, responding to Ronan’s silence. He crossed his arms and glared. “You aren’t giving up on this. I’m not letting you. Your mess is my mess. This is ours. I’m not leaving.”

Ronan’s face showed every emotion he hadn’t been feeling. Adam could see the hurt, the fear, the sadness, and the anger. He could see how vulnerable he had truly become, how scared he was of hurting Adam, how he would rather let Adam go than be the cause of Adam’s suffering. In Ronan’s mind, it was probably noble. He probably thought he was doing Adam a favor and, while it hurt, it wasn’t enough to push Adam away. Because loving Ronan wasn’t some exquisite form of destruction.

“Fuck!”

Ronan stormed away from Adam, his body flooding with emotion and on the brink of total collapse. He picked up a rock from the drive and hurled it at the barn. He kicked the front tire of the BMW, unable to communicate with words and instead having a silent shouting fit with his body. He cursed, ran hands over his shaved head, and pulled at the bands around his wrist. When he approached Adam again, he left no distance between them.

It was incredible, Adam thought, how Ronan could so quickly shift from brutal to gentle. It should have been impossible, but here Ronan was, his hands unbelievably light on Adam’s face just moments after smashing his fist into the side of his car. His lips were soft, even moments after unleashing a string of swears that would have made Gansey flush red. He kissed Adam, moments after telling Adam to leave.

Thank god Adam hadn’t left.

Adam kissed him back, pouring everything he could into it. His hands rested on Ronan’s waist, gripping hard enough so that there would be marks. When Ronan pulled away, caught his breath, and then moved to kiss him again, Adam felt the tears once more. This time, he let them fall. Ronan might have been crying too. Adam didn’t pull back to look, instead keeping the other boy’s lips on his, keeping him as close as physically possible.

When they finally broke away, both breathing heard, both with damp cheeks, Adam moved his hands up to Ronan’s shoulders and shoved. Not lightly.

“You asshole,” Adam said, hearing his voice catch.

He sat on the porch steps and pressed his hands to his head, not replaying the night in his head but considering it. Eventually, he felt Ronan sit down next to him. The porch creaked with the movement and Adam could feel his warmth. He let his hands fall, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes staring at the sun rising over the Virginia Mountains. Without looking at Ronan, Adam said, “You can’t break up with me.”

Ronan inhaled sharply. “I know.”

There was another beat of silence, another stretch of distance that had to be crossed before they could move on. Move on, not separately, but together. One more confession that had to be heard. One more honest word, one more nightmare to confront, on more desperate admission that could either be swallowed in the night or used as a foundation.

Ronan said, “I love you.”

And Adam reached for his hand, weaving their fingers together, holding on with no real plans of letting go. “I know.”

They went inside, stripped each other out of their bloody clothes, and fell into the clean sheets. It wasn’t night anymore. Sunlight broke through the window, showering them in gold, highlighting their entangled bodies.  

Ronan pressed his face into Adam’s skin, his words urgent and loving, _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_. And Adam pressed back, his lips doing what his voice couldn’t, _it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay_.

They called Gansey the next day. They met with him, and Blue, and Henry. They recounted the events of the previous night, saving some parts for themselves, though Gansey would undoubtedly find out eventually. Adam had work and school the next day but he went home with Ronan anyway. He didn’t ask and Ronan didn’t question it.

They were done pulling away from each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.
> 
> So.  
> This was a really long chapter. I hope no one minded the length. I could have split it into two, but I ultimately decided it had to be fit into one. Also, because of the length and the blurry eyes while writing, there are probably some mistake. Sorry.
> 
> I have no shame in letting anyone know that I cried writing this chapter. I knew I wanted to write it, I knew for months, and I still cried. No shame. It was hard. My roommates complained because I listened to Kelly Clarkson's "Already Gone" a whooping fourteen times in a row. My best friend grew sick of me texting her about the tragedy of 500 Days of Summer (watched it to get in the mood and only ended up bumming myself out for a week) and Brokeback Mountain (that was even worse. I'm an idiot).  
> I also think its important to notice that Ronan and Adam spoke more in this chapter than they possibly have in the entire fic thus far. And that was on purpose, because I don't think their primary language is verbal. At least not how I write them.
> 
> Let me know what you thought. Let me know if you hated it and want me to burn my laptop. Let me know if this was waaaay out of line. Let me know if you liked it. I want every form of criticism or comment I can get.   
> I want to hear you! Talk to me! I talk back! 
> 
> To be completely honest, I like reading breakup fics. Not all the time, and not breakups that happen repeatedly. But I like reading material that really sucker punches my heart strings, so if anyone has any fics that do that to them, please drop the name in the comments. (Doesn't HAVE to be a Pynch fic (though that would be great), I'm open to new things)
> 
> On a lighter note,  
> Absolutely no one has told me NOT to write a band AU. No one. And unless someone stops me, it will be written. Gansey will 100% be the lead singer. Ronan will have SO MUCH angst. My inner 13 year old self will go CRAZY so someone better hold me back. Tell me its a bad idea or I will become RELENTLESS. 
> 
> Thank you for all of the lovely hits and comments and bookmarks and kudos. They mean the world.  
> Almost at 2000 hits which means I've officially reached internet fame. Must hire an agent, ASAP. My standards are low, but my pride is flying high.


End file.
